


The Straight Man

by Lemur710



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live Sketches
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Happy ending (because it's canon compliant!), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, sexual identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemur710/pseuds/Lemur710
Summary: "The straight man is a stock character in a comedy performance, especially a double act, sketch comedy, or farce. When a comedy partner behaves eccentrically, the straight man is expected to maintain composure." - WikipediaSeth's journey from Stefon's straight man to his husband.
Relationships: Seth Meyers/Stefon
Comments: 115
Kudos: 278





	1. 2010

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell? How did this happen? How am I here? Bill Hader’s cute? What the fuck?  
> Anyway, here’s a fic.

“Hi,” the man said softly, clearly ended with a period and nothing approaching an exclamation point. “I’m Stefon.”

Seth accepted his handshake, though Stefon clasped only the tips of his fingers and didn’t really make eye contact. Instead his gaze darted about the hallway, at the signed photos of past hosts and musical guests. “I’m Seth Meyers.”

“Nice to meet you, Seth Meyers.” Stefon smoothed a hand over his hair.

When Stefon’s eyes did turn to him, Seth caught the fall and rise of his gaze and knew attraction when he saw it. It wasn’t a big deal; Seth wasn’t the sort of straight guy to get freaked out by that. He was even a little flattered. Stefon was handsome, if a bit underfed and under-rested, and it was a nice nudge to the ego to think he could catch his eye.

He wasn’t sure how the segment would go, though. Stefon was just so...odd. Often in ways Seth couldn’t place. He’d read the promotional email John had received that made him want to track this guy down in the first place and it had been, well, intense was a word Seth would use to describe it. Bizarre, too. But also witty and well-written. _Convincing_ , because for half a second Seth actually considered attending a party that played “throw-up music.”

Writing and performing, however, were two different things, as Seth knew better than most, and being photogenic wouldn’t carry a five-minute segment of nothing but two guys talking. But to Seth’s surprise, it went well enough in dress rehearsal to make it into the show’s final roster. 

Mostly because Stefon Zolesky was a fascinating disaster of a human being. Everything about him made Seth nervous, yet he couldn’t look away. Not like the cliché car crash. More like a Jim Henson muppet firmly in the Uncanny Valley of being deeply human and yet so otherworldly he couldn’t figure out how it worked. Nothing Stefon said was ever helpful, even when it managed to make sense, and yet Seth only wanted to hear him talk more. He was like the Skeksis in _The Dark Crystal_ —unnerving, unreal, and still somehow absolutely captivating. 

Seth liked him immediately. Almost as much as he disliked him. Like his gut was holding up a sign, “Beware: this way lies something both wondrous and wild.”

Before the audience, Stefon trembled and shifted with anxiety, but he also _nailed it_. It was exhilarating to watch unfold from the seat beside him. The crowd’s laughter, _Stefon’s_ laughter, Seth relishing the role of the straight man through it all; it was effortless. He loved every second of it. As he listened to the band play them out after that first segment, he thought, _Oh, we’re onto something here._

____

By his third visit to Update, they were starting to hit their stride on this weird little collaborative effort. Stefon was getting more comfortable in front of the crowd and the writers were getting a handle on his voice. They’d checked with him early on to make sure it was okay if they just made stuff up. Stefon gave them a look that gave Seth the distinct impression that he was laughing _at_ them, not with them. “You made it up, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” he said, which was a remarkably philosophical answer that Seth didn’t let himself ponder for too long. If the laughs kept coming and the show didn’t get sued by someone with the name of a dirty cartoon character, he couldn’t care less about the details.

It was also that third visit when everything started to change.

Obviously Stefon had email. He had a phone, even if it was a battered old Nokia well into 2010 before he finally got an Android. The riff about Seth writing him a letter to ask him on the show had been one of the few truly improvised exchanges they had that night, nothing planned or snuck onto cue cards. It was an off-hand joke in the moment and Stefon rolled with the chaotic energy just as easily as Seth because he was clever and hilarious and not nearly as foggy-minded as he pretended to be at times. 

It was funny. That whole night was fun.

So, when Seth saw an opening coming up in December, he got Stefon’s mailing address (which turned out to be a P.O. Box) from payroll and bought a card at his local CVS. Gold script on the front read, “You’re cordially invited…”. Inside he handwrote, “to appear on Weekend Update with Seth Meyers as City Correspondent,” followed by all the information a guest would need. He liked to imagine Stefon gathering it amongst bills and junk mail and having a laugh.

He wasn’t sure what he expected from it—maybe a phone call, maybe just an email from Booking that Stefon had confirmed. He most certainly hadn’t expected to receive a letter back. But five days later, there it was, waiting on his desk with the rest of his mail, the cream-colored envelope blank save for his address and a familiar P.O. number in the return-address spot.

“My dearest Mr. Meyers,” Stefon had written in laboriously looping letters, “Imagine me the picture of delight to receive your invitation. I most graciously and humbly accept.” Seth read the whole thing with a smile on his face and a laugh caught in his throat. True to his nature, Stefon held the joke through whole letter, maintaining the elaborate and wordy pomposity of this make-believe gentleman until he signed off, “Yours most ardently, Mr. Stefon Zolesky.”

Seth figured he should let Booking know that Stefon had confirmed and then get back to work. Instead, he sat down at his desk and immediately pulled out a pen.

“Mr. Stefon Zolesky.” The words looked weak and thin on the notebook paper compared to the nice paper and rich ink of Stefon’s (and where did he even get paper like that—Black George Washington?), but Seth didn’t dwell on that. “I hope this letter finds you well,” he wrote, for once not letting himself overthink. “Huzzah!”

____

The letters started silly. A back-and-forth of one-up-manship of who could find the ugliest stationery (Seth might have won that with the pages he found with dozens of Jesus heads lining the border), but amid the nonsense, they actually started to write about themselves, about their lives. Seth didn’t know why he kept responding. A half-dozen times he could have just let it drop, laughed at Stefon’s last reply and let it go.

But he didn’t. Instead, he bought new pens and started checking every store for tacky stationery until his friends were sure he was starting a collection.

They wrote letters like incarcerated pen pals. They couldn’t live more than 30 minutes apart, Seth figured, depending on wherever Stefon called home, and he had access to Stefon’s phone number and email address, but he never looked them up. 

His letters to Stefon became streams of thought between writing for the show. He’d flip up the pages of his legal pad to his taco- or crime-themed stationery tucked in the back—the writing and the pen color changing with his mood and location—until he’d filled two pages, signed it, and sent it off to Stefon without re-reading it. He didn’t analyze too closely why he did that, why he sealed and dropped the letters in the mailbox so quickly, hurried, like he might change his mind if he didn’t. Like it would matter if he did.

In his own letters, Stefon shared the expected madness of his adventures in the club scene, especially the stuff too raunchy for Update. But a different side of him started to emerge, too, not the least of which was his small, neat handwriting. It was controlled and tidy, dotted with grammar and spelling errors, which were sometimes the only way Seth could connect the person in the pages with the person who infrequently sat beside him on live television. 

Stefon was intelligent and thoughtful, almost radically gentle in how he viewed the world. “When the world calls you a freak,” he wrote in one, and it gave Seth the feeling of being late hours, when emotions are raw and resistance thin, “you can do two things: Pretend you’re normal and die inside, or say, ‘Oh, I’ll show you a freak.’ Guess which one Stefon chose, Seth Meyers?” 

He wrote about his friend Shy with such fondness that Seth missed his own best friends from home and almost— _almost_ —understood the point of piss artistry. He wrote about his mother, who apparently partied with Stefon when he was in his teens, and between the love Stefon clearly felt, Seth could also sense the loss and sadness. “She wasn’t ready to be a mom,” Stefon wrote, “so she just wasn’t one. We’re friends. We have a whole dance routine to 'Livin’ On A Prayer' and she still beats me at Never Have I Ever. The winner is the person who drinks the most, right?”

They averaged about two letters a week—one from each of them—and by the time November came to its end, Seth was looking forward to seeing Stefon back in the studio.

Which, of course, meant Stefon arrived two hours late. He slunk through the door just as they settled in for the table read with cold cuts and submarine sandwiches within easy reach. “Hi,” he said softly, giving a tiny wave before he sank into a seat against the wall and crossed his long legs in his skinny jeans. He looked to Seth, gave him a small smile and a wave just for him.

Seth waved and smiled back until he noticed John, seated beside him, watching out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

John shrugged and looked back to his script pages. “Nothing,” he said.

Ideas from one week inevitably bled into the next and soon after Stefon read through a rough draft of his segment, they cooked up a bit the following week—a Christmas song send-off with Stefon and some other Update regulars. Stefon just nodded distractedly and agreed.

As people started to file out, Stefon moved toward Seth and Seth and John moved toward him. 

“I’m sorry I was late,” Stefon said to them, lips twisting. “One of the Germfs is out of rehab and we had to clean his apartment of _paraphernalia_.”

“Oh,” John said.

“Oh,” Seth echoed. Then, “Is he okay?”

Stefon pulled on his sleeves and let out a sigh. “He’ll do his best.”

“Hey,” John said, changing gears, “since you’re doing the bit next week, you should stick around.”

“What?” Stefon stood with hand poised delicately by his throat and sincere confusion in his eyes. “Here?”

Seth clarified, “Not like sleep here—

“You could share with Andy, if you want.”

“—but yeah, you should hang out,” he finished. “It’ll be fun.” He shifted his script pages, tidying them and fixing the edges. 

Stefon glanced around. Most of the cast couldn’t care less as they gathered their stuff (and leftover sandwiches), so Stefon’s gaze skated right back to Seth and John. He looked between them a moment, then lowered his hands. “Okay,” he said at last.

Seth smiled, strangely excited. Almost two full weeks of daily Stefon. Talk about uncharted territory.

____

Turns out, club kids and late-night comedy crews kept similar hours, so Stefon knew just when to show up with coffee and caffeine drinks. Even if he hadn’t come bearing gifts, his wacky-wingman energy was a welcome boost in the long stretch before a break. A writers’ room of comedians is nothing but contained, directional neuroses anyway, so Stefon’s strangeness fit strangely well. He was funny and adaptable. He could have been a staff writer himself if Seth didn’t suspect his dungeon-culture references landed far better with a bunch of tired, wired comedians than it would with the American public.

Regardless, when they realized Stefon could do voices and impressions, they all completely lost their minds. 

By Wednesday dress rehearsal, Seth already felt nearly boneless with exhaustion, running on fumes, slumped in his chair. He stared across the small room to where Stefon was cracking up with Nasim and Abby. They hadn’t talked about the letters they’d written each other, not directly anyway, but there was an ease between them that Seth assumed must be visible from the outside. If anyone wondered about it, no one said anything. After that first day’s late arrival, Stefon almost always claimed the seat at Seth’s side, and vice versa. They’d shared a bag of chips for midnight lunch the last couple of nights.

So, he wasn’t that surprised John started writing in flirtation. He wasn’t even that surprised when John wrote him responding or even encouraging it. He and Stefon had chemistry, he could feel that. And that was rare enough that it only made sense to use it. 

Seth was just tired enough to feel a bit wistful. It was funny how life worked. Stefon still cut such an unusual figure with his hair slicked and highlighted, eyes accented with eyeliner, and his fashion more sparkle and shine in one shirt than Seth had in his entire wardrobe, but he didn’t see a bizarre stranger anymore. He saw his friend Stefon. For two very different people, they got along very well.

As if sensing his attention, Stefon glanced over and met Seth’s eyes over the top of a prop tree two stagehands wheeled from backstage. He smiled. Seth just smiled back.

All in all, he had more fun at work those two weeks than he’d had in a long time, which was saying something. 

He didn’t really take Stefon home with him for the holidays, that had been a bit, but if Stefon had pushed it—even as a joke, even as a dare—Seth thought he might have done it. Traveling with Stefon seemed like it’d be fun, and part of him could imagine staying up late at his parents’ house, drinking with Stefon and his brother and it all…seemed nice. He thought maybe he’d enjoy that.

But after shooting was over, Stefon slunk out much the same way he’d arrived. Seth was still in his suit and makeup and could only watch as Stefon looked back, waved, and slipped out the door. Seth didn’t know what to do with the disappointment rattling in his stomach until he saw the envelope waiting on his desk, “Seth Meyers” penned on the front in familiar tidy handwriting.

Seth eagerly opened it. 

“Seth, Don’t be jealous, but I’ve spent all week with a famous, serious news anchor. He’s handsome and smart and I even like his friends. I said don’t be jealous, Seth Meyers.”


	2. 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because why shouldn’t I take a ridiculous comedy sketch and have a cathartic experience?  
> Additional notes: Seth’s girlfriend in this story is entirely fictional.

_He has nice shoulders_ , Seth noticed, watching the playback of Stefon laughing helplessly about “Jewpids.” 

The months since Stefon’s two-week visit to set had been filled with more letters that were themselves filled with more stream of consciousness ramblings and more shared stories from childhood—alternately idyllic and occasionally nightmarish. 

But Seth didn’t seal them and cast them into the post box like it might bite him, not anymore. Because something new had slowly crept into his mind.

 _He has nice hands, too_ , he thought, watching Stefon steeple his fingers over what Seth knew was also a very nice smile.

He stood and left the editing bay; he didn’t need to be there anyway. He’d just come by to answer a question and he’d answered it and now he could leave. He didn’t need to stay there watching Stefon on screen. He’d been there. It had been a good segment. They’d had fun and Stefon had left and Seth had gotten back to work.

In his letters to Stefon, he vented about frustrations at the studio, or told him stories about the dog he had as a kid who fought a skunk and how his hand had cramped when he’d had to open 24 jumbo jars of tomato sauce to fill the bathtub and wash him.

Parallel to all of that was a small personal meltdown that he talked about to exactly no one.

Because the thing was, he was starting to notice that a lot of guys had nice shoulders. He was starting to notice that he’d always noticed. He noticed when guys had nice jawlines or dark eyes. He noticed their hands in a way he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. Not if he was who he thought he was.

He let himself imagine it one night lying in bed and trying to sleep—a test, just in his mind. No one needed to know. Certainly not Allie, the audio director at _The Tonight Show_ , who he’d started dating in January. He tried to imagine kissing a guy, maybe some hot celebrity who’d hosted the show before like Paul Rudd or Jon Hamm, but no. He couldn’t even picture it. He liked those guys, but it wasn’t...they were objectively attractive, perhaps, but he didn’t feel any attraction to them in particular.

So he imagined kissing Stefon. 

_That_ he could picture. And he knew it wasn’t because Stefon was softer or more effeminate than Hamm because he imagined sliding his palms across Stefon’s broad shoulders, feeling his strong hands with those clinking rings, he imagined feeling the angle of his jaw against his fingertips and—

That’s as far as he could go. Any lust he felt shut off like a spigot when he tried to imagine clothes coming off.

 _So, not entirely straight_ is how he put it in his head, and then promptly put it out of his head because it didn’t matter. He was dating a great woman who he really liked and not every impulse had to be acted upon. That was part of being an adult human. He was pragmatic. He understood. Sexuality was a spectrum, he was hip, he got it.

What blindsided him was that, once he’d acknowledge it, he could no longer pretend it wasn’t there. The server at Allie’s favorite restaurant had great arms, the guy across the hall looked hotter now that he was growing out his beard, and he developed a real appreciation for a nice, dark-color Henley on a man.

And then old shit started coming back too. Seth remembered that new boy Aaron during his senior year in high school, the one everyone just called “new boy” until graduation, and Seth thought was the prettiest boy he’d ever seen in person. Big blue eyes, hair that fell over his forehead; Seth had thought he’d wanted to be him. They talked during Advanced Literature, went to a movie together once, and Aaron tracked down the Star Wars Lando Calrissian figurine that Seth had been complaining about having lost. He hadn’t known how to interpret the way Aaron looked at him sometimes, and maybe Aaron thought the same thing about him.

Looking back on it now, Seth thought maybe, if he’d been braver...

So, he could imagine kissing a guy. Once his imagination nudged that door open, it kept gaping wider. Clothes off didn’t choke the spigot. Kissing, touching, rubbing—he could imagine quite a lot and he liked it. He also liked kissing Allie. He liked sex with her and holding her, feeling her, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo on his pillow.

In another life, Stefon might have been the perfect friend to experiment with, but not in their 30s. Plus, he could tell Stefon had a bit of a crush on him. Of course he did; they had incredible chemistry. Seth would not, under any circumstance, take advantage of that because of a fleeting sexual identity crisis. He cared about Stefon too much. He respected him. Seth had been unrequited a million times before and he knew that that turbulent water could be navigated with kindness. Many a woman had been kind to him. 

He also knew from their letters that Stefon wanted a family someday. He wanted to settle down and be a husband and a father. He didn’t want to party until he died of it, which was what Seth might have assumed when they first met. There were quite a few loving, committed relationships in Stefon’s circle, even if they were in gender and number configurations that were mostly unfamiliar to Seth.

Point was, his appearance and all other indications aside, Stefon’s “slutty years,” as he’d called them, were over. Kissing and touching and sex meant something to him. “It always had I guess,” he’d written on some paper incongruously decorated with green-faced melon children, “I just pretended.”

Still, Stefon was who he thought about most, even if it made him feel guilty—both for fantasizing about his friend and for fantasizing about someone who _wasn’t_ his girlfriend. Sometimes he couldn’t help it. Stefon was sexy and touchy-feely and being alone with him in front of an audience felt intimate in a way that was hard to explain.

For so much of his adult life, Seth had identified as a staunch, heterosexual male. He’d prided himself on being an example of how those men _should_ be: supportive of women, secure in his masculinity, respectful of members of the LGBTQ+ community, even if he didn’t understand all the letters. Then, he came in the shower, biting his fist and thinking about sucking off Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

Seth wasn’t who he thought he was, which was a fucking gut-punch of a thing to start contemplating at 38 years old.

____

Leaving on a trip with Stefon and his little green backpack was meant to be a bit, too. But this time, Stefon pushed.

“You need a vacation,” Stefon said, gently tapping a fingertip to Seth’s cheeks. “You can’t keep making Katherine cover these bags under your eyes. Poor thing.”

“Who’s the poor thing, me or Katherine?”

“Katherine. You’re doing it to yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Katherine doesn’t have to cover my dark circles, honey.”

“Fair enough,” Seth conceded. Tired was part of Stefon’s look, but now that Seth thought about it, Stefon wasn’t looking it as much as he used to. He also seemed less strung out every time he saw him. He knew from Stefon’s letters that he’d been doing some writing for underground zines and TV shows. Steady employment looked good on him.

He called Allie as he left the building, half-hoping she might nix the idea for him. “I know I’ve been busy lately and we haven’t had much time to hang out,” he said.

“No, I get it,” she replied, voice kind through the bad connection. “Guys need their bro time.”

“You have to be the first and only person to ever call Stefon a ‘bro.’”

She laughed. He liked her laugh. “Bro is a function, not a form, Meyers. Get with it.”

He still had to be talked into the vacation, if only because there was always more work to do. He refused to go overseas. Stefon didn’t object to that parameter. He said, in that casual tone that always left Seth wondering if he was serious, that he couldn’t legally leave the country anyway.

They went to Vero Beach in Florida because someone at Stefon’s friend Joel’s brother’s office had a condo they were willing to let them use for a few days. Joel, Seth eventually learned on the flight south, was the “Germf” who’d gotten out of rehab in December. He was still doing well, though he’d left the club scene (too hard to stay sober amongst the other hard-partying Germfs, Stefon explained) and was now working in accounting. With that kind of connection, Seth expected they’d be in some kid’s plastic playhouse in a backyard. Instead, the condo was two bedrooms, a family room with a big TV, a small but functional kitchen, and more seaside pastiche décor than he could have ever wanted.

It all seemed rather WASP-y to Seth, but Stefon got some recommendations from his shadowy cabal of club kids and managed to find an Irish pub that specialized in fondue, a pop-up club called Pontius Pages in an abandoned Christian bookstore, and a coffee shop that was aggressively free trade (as in Seth would have believed its owners fought the coffee cartels with their bare, tattooed hands for each singular bean).

As they strolled the small, rather homogenized downtown, Seth was oddly relieved whenever he saw a rainbow flag. For Stefon’s sake. And maybe his own, he didn’t know yet. He supposed, technically, he fit under that rainbow umbrella, but it still felt like something that didn’t belong to him, like he was co-opting a symbol of pride for a shame and fear he’d not really felt. 

But he must have felt it. Why else not kiss Aaron or any other guy he could look back on and now realize he probably liked as more than a friend? Was that really shame or fear when it just felt easier to go after the girls he liked instead?

“Do you like turtles?” Stefon asked.

“Turtles?” Seth stopped staring blankly the thrumming dancefloor and turned his attention to Stefon. He was probably being terrible company right now, but Stefon kind of was too with his face buried in his smart phone. 

“Would you want to see a big mama turtle lay her eggs?” Stefon looked up at him. He looked perfectly at ease within this chaos of light and sound. A mirrored ball cast yellow light at a nauseating speed.

“Is that a euphemism for something?” Seth asked. 

Stefon paused, looked upward as if searching his memory before answering, “No...I don’t think.” Then, he slid his phone toward him on the small, sticky table. Their knees touched. “I can make a reservation.” He took a delicate sip of some weirdly glowing beverage.

Seth shrugged. So far, he’d liked the fondue, this club was interesting if nothing else, and the militant shop had good coffee. “Bring on the turtles,” he said, and downed the rest of his Sacrilege cocktail.

As Stefon typed on his phone, Seth eyed the other club patrons, a dizzying array of body types, ages, races, genders, sexualities. He wondered how this crowd compared to the NYC scenes. As someone who had recently admitted to himself that he could be into women _and_ men, he felt fully qualified to say that no one here was as attractive as Stefon with his bright eyes, strong jaw, and imperfect little smile. 

“I’m surprised no one’s tried to buy you a drink or a bump of coke or however those things are done in your world,” Seth said to him. 

“Uhh, they probably think I’m taken.”

“Why?”

Stefon looked down pointedly, one expressive eyebrow peaking. Only then did Seth notice his body was angled in toward Stefon with his arm curled possessively across the back of his chair.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Seth said, pulling his limbs back to himself.

“I’m not,” Stefon purred in that low way of his. “You’re the cutest guy here.” He bopped Seth on the nose with a fingertip.

“Stop,” Seth said weakly, batting him away.

The sea turtles nested at night, in full dark, so they didn’t even start driving to the Conservation Center until almost sunset the following day. Seth took the wheel of the rental car, while Stefon rejected every radio station within receiving distance, fussing about not being able to play whatever shrieking Viking metal rap he was into right now. 

At the Conservation Center, they joined maybe a dozen other turtle-tourists in the small theater space, waiting to receive their instructions. As Stefon took a seat by his side, Seth noticed the blonde woman in the front row look over her shoulder, watching him for a moment, before turning back to her boyfriend. A second later, the boyfriend peered back at Stefon as his girlfriend giggled. In the front row there was a mother with her two excited children, maybe 8 and 10, Seth guessed. The little boy wiggled, swinging his arms and staring openly at Stefon. At the back, an older couple, a man and woman both in their 60s wearing khaki outdoors clothing, chatted quietly, both of them glancing Stefon’s way.

Stefon himself didn’t seemed to notice the stares. Instead, he watched the display of sea turtle photos sliding across the screen while Seth, quiet and confused beside him, seethed. “Shy rescued a turtle after Hurricane Katrina,” Stefon told him. “He kept it in his swimming pool for a year.”

Anger boiling, Seth caught only bits and pieces of the guide’s instructions and the turtle facts in the conservation video they watched while waiting for the turtle scouts. “Oh, god,” Stefon murmured, a hand to his chest, “if they make me watch that baby turtle get killed by that plastic bag—oh, okay. He’s okay.”

Seth smiled lightly, listening to Stefon’s soft, running commentary. Some of his tension eased. 

About thirty minutes later, a radio crackled as a scout reported in that a mama turtle had been sighted. Their guide got them to their feet and lead them out of the dim museum lighting of the Conservation Center and to the boardwalk leading down to the beach. Stefon retrieved his green backpack from the rental car and brandished his mosquito spray. He liberally doused himself and Seth. 

Seth distanced himself from the rest of the visitors, walking to the lowest level of the platform. Splinters pricked through his long sleeves as he rested his arms on the rails, staring out at the dark moving mass of the ocean. They were to wait for a few minutes, the guide said, for their eyes to adjust and for the sea turtle to finish digging the hole for her eggs. Stefon stayed with him, of course. The stray sequins on his purple shirt glinted in the darkness.

“You okay?” he asked. He nudged Seth with his shoulder, the sour scent of bug spray wafting with him.

“Yeah.” Seth rubbed his forehead. “Just tired.”

“Liar,” Stefon hissed fondly. “But I’ll let you keep your secrets.”

In a single-file line, the guide led them across the sand, down close to the water where they’d be sure not to disrupt any turtles or existing nests. Seth had lived in the city so long that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen night like this. Clouds filled the sky, puffy and grey, rimmed with white where the moon was hidden. The sea almost glowed, white surf bursting a few yards out from shore, and then thinning to a bubbling, silvery sheet that swept to their feet.

They crowded around the guide who shined a red flashlight down to illuminate the huge body of a Loggerhead sea turtle. She was beautiful, hulking and glorious, with black, shining eyes and fins the size of frying pans. She’d perched herself over the hole she’d dug and was laying egg after small, white egg.

“Gross,” Stefon breathed, “cool.” Seth figured that about summed it up.

The blonde woman Seth was trying not to hate cuddled close to her boyfriend despite the warmth of the night. “Does she know we’re here?” she asked.

“She does,” the guide said with a chuckle, “but she doesn’t care. Once she’s started laying her eggs, she’ll keep going until she’s done.”

“Oh, that’s like you,” Stefon whispered, snug against Seth’s side.

“Excuse me?” Seth laughed. 

Stefon twisted his hands in the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. “It’s that thing where you burrow into your little work hole—

“My office?”

“—and start laying your baby comedy eggs and nothing distracts you.”

Seth snorted and shook his head. “You distract me all the time.”

Stefon opened his mouth to reply, his features faint outlines in the dim, but he just gaped and said nothing. His eyes caught the light, shining and black like the mama turtle’s had been. Seth stared back at him feeling equally at a loss for words until a clump of sand smacked across their faces.

“Ope,” Stefon said, blinking rapidly.

The sea turtle had started to bury her nest, flicking her flippers, sending sand flying everywhere, including into the hole she’d filled with eggs. 

“Clear the way.” The guide gestured with her red flashlight. “She’s going back to the water now.”

Seth marveled, watching the cumbrous body turn itself on the ground with limbs far more suited for swimming. Pockmarks and scars dotted her shell, and Seth remembered the video had said Loggerheads can live into their 60s. He wondered how old this one was, how many times she’d come to this beach, how many times she’s dragged herself on land. 

He could see others emerging, now that his eyes had grown accustomed to the night. Every few yards along the water’s edge, a large black shape crawled upon the wet sand, slow and steady. Some returned to the water before they’d gone so much as a few feet, but others kept up the fight, kept pulling themselves up the sloping dunes.

He felt Stefon at his side. “Thanks for suggesting this, man,” he said.

“You’re very welcome.”

Seth felt far more peaceful for the walk back to the Conservation Center. The group spread apart, breaking up into the various bands they’d come in, so Seth walked side by side with Stefon, letting the sea just touch the soles of their shoes. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” Stefon said, without hesitation.

“How did you come out?”

Stefon glanced over at him, but if he wondered why Seth was asking, he didn’t say it. “I never really get to be in.”

Seth could make out the shift of his shadow against the murky gray of the surf and even in that he could see it. Stefon’s body itself just naturally moved in a way that others could clock and categorize. Most people probably assumed, just as he had. 

“No, that’s not true,” Stefon corrected. “First time for real was freshman year. My friends thought it was rumors, I guess.”

“What happened?”

“They said it didn’t change anything, but we weren’t really friends after. Some new kid transferred in and he—whatever, it got really bad, so I dropped out.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“God."

“Yes, but I found my people. I had my mom. I got my GED before 25. I’m a success story, Seth Meyers.”

He wanted a laugh, but Seth couldn’t give it to him. His chest felt too heavy. He swallowed, watched as his shoes crossed the feathered sand of a turtle’s path. “Do you get mad at people who don’t come out?”

“No, why would I?”

“Because you have to deal with it alone,” Seth answered. He thought of the judging looks, the way they’d stared at Stefon, and he suddenly felt like crying. He could feel the tears flooding his eyes. His lungs tightened.

Stefon stopped. He turned and watched Seth for a breath in the darkness. The water rose, soaking into Seth’s socks. The shushing waves were not enough to drown the pained whimper that broke in his throat as he tried to keep from sobbing. This is why he hated being well-rested.

“There’s strength in numbers,” Stefon said, finally, “but no, never, Seth. I’ve never been mad at someone for not coming out.”

The way he said it, Seth felt so sure he knew. He _knew._

“I just want to be invited to the party if they ever do.” 

“Right,” Seth said, sniffling aggressively and wiping a gross hand, dirty with bug spray and sand, across his face.

Stefon bumped his shoulder against Seth’s. “You want to know the first time I ever saw the ocean?”

“Okay.”

So, as they walked back down the beach toward the boardwalk, Stefon regaled with him a tale of “jacked old men in old timey bathing suits, an ice cream truck that only served ice cream shaped like Sonic the Hedgehog, and my mother’s idea of a summer vacation.” Seth didn’t care if any of it was true; it was comforting to let Stefon’s low, soft voice drown his worries. It felt good to let Stefon make him laugh.

It was nearly 2 a.m. before they pulled into the condo parking lot after a trip through a fast-food drive through. Then they stayed up another two hours heckling baking show reruns and eating a regrettable amount of Taco Bell.

When they finally retreated to their separate bedrooms, Seth lay beneath his scratchy comforter listening to Stefon shower clean of bug spray in the shared bathroom. He watched the door to his room, the sliver of light shining in from the hallway, and he wondered if Stefon would come in, now that he knew. He wondered if he wanted him to.

But then the light clicked off, the condo went dark, and Stefon’s footsteps took him back to his room without even a pause by Seth’s door. 

He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

____

Two days before he went back to work, he tweaked his lower back replacing his shower curtain. No one wanted to believe that, though.

As far as the cast was concerned, Seth left on a trip with Stefon and returned with a sore back... It was months before he heard the end of it.


	3. 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most everything about Seth’s family is fictional. (I try to have a light hand with non-celebrities in real person fic.) Welcome to a self-indulgent fluff-and-angst fest.
> 
> Content Warning: Passing reference to suicide, murder, and overdose in this chapter. (That sentence is probably longer than the reference.)

As December clicked over into January, Seth watched the fireworks burst over the city and felt settled, as much as a person can. Allie, nestled under his arm, turned to him for a midnight kiss to start the new year. They were good, solid. The sort of solid and good that made other attractive women—and men, for that matter—seem unsubstantial. They couldn’t offer him better than what he had with Allie. He wasn’t fantasizing about Stefon or anyone really, not like he had been.

After so many months of inner turmoil, Seth began the year in relative calm. 

“Look all right?” John asked him, setting something down on the desk in front of him.

Seth stared down at the prop, a bright green button with “Kiss me, I’m Irish” in bold yellow writing. He swallowed. “Yep.”

____

Stefon hadn’t been dating Derek Zoolander, but he _was_ dating someone. He didn’t tell Seth much about him and Seth didn’t ask. They didn’t write letters like they used to, but they still texted several times a week. Stefon usually communicated through memes that Seth almost never understood but always interpreted to mean “made me think of you,” and he sent Stefon almost daily pictures of the bodega cats near 30 Rockefeller Plaza for the same reason.

People asked him about Stefon all the time and he always told them he was doing great. From what he could discern, that seemed to be true. Stefon only spent one, maybe two, weekends a month partying club-kid style. The rest was filled with writing jobs and, Seth hoped, food and sleep (though he was hardly one to criticize). Stefon had been on the scene since he was 15—almost a full 20 years of partying harder—and that had allowed him to build connections with promoters and the new generation of party monsters who scrambled to keep him in the loop even when he wasn’t present for it. He’d vomited in enough municipal buildings and woken up naked in enough abandoned factories to be forever a pop-up club legend. 

If pressed, Seth would admit he was relieved that Stefon was distancing himself from his dungeon-culture haunts. He’d learned just enough about Stefon’s world to know those kids didn’t age well. Some of them didn’t age at all—they overdosed or killed themselves (or each other) before they hit 30.

According to John, who also communicated with Stefon (because of course he did, they wrote the segments together, and Seth was _not_ jealous) Stefon most often referenced his roommates Joel and Ignacio (who, Seth learned, was Joel’s boyfriend and a former “human fanny pack,” now a student of Early Childhood Education at the Borough of Manhattan Community College). Judging by the occasional late-night photo that Seth received, their wildest adventures seemed to be stacking every dish in their apartment to see if they owned enough to reach the ceiling.

Stefon arrived right on time for the table read in early March. Seth smiled immediately. He’d not seen Stefon since his segment in December and he welcomed him with a hug. “Hey, buddy,” he said.

“Hey,” Stefon said, voice soft as usual, but his smile was softer.

Seth wanted to say more, even if he didn’t know what, but others had spotted Stefon and came over to greet him with hugs, high fives that Stefon made awkward, and the occasional kiss on the cheek. The noise reached intense levels as upwards of two dozen people adjusted squeaky seats, claimed sandwiches and crinkly bags of chips, opened fizzing bottles of Coke, and laughed and talked and enjoyed each other in one small room.

For just a moment, Seth looked around and felt content. _His dream job._

He met Stefon’s eyes over Abby’s head and gestured— _sandwich?_ Stefon nodded and Seth grabbed some food to place in front of the chair beside him, which, he noticed, no one else had filled. 

By the time they got to Stefon’s Weekend Update segment, Seth’s notes covered his script in red marks. The show was coming together in his head, and he had a sense of which sketches could be adjusted and improved, and which could be cut before dress rehearsal. 

“They’re handing out these,” Stefon read. Small laughs already tittered through the others as they read ahead.

“Oh,” Seth read, “‘Kiss me, I’m Irish.’”

“If you insist.” Stefon leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Half the room clapped and called out “wooo!” while the other half called out “booo!” because the script clearly said, “Stefon lays a big one on him.”

“Shush,” Seth said. Stefon snorted a little laugh beside him.

Dress rehearsal was even worse. Stefon could not stop giggling, which made Seth start giggling, and half the lines were lost to laughter.

“I haven’t even changed anything yet,” John pointed out.

“I know, shut up,” Stefon said, wiping laughing tears from his eyes. “I’ll do it right.”

“That would be a first.”

“Slander,” Stefon shot back playfully, and Seth realized Stefon and John were much closer friends than he’d thought, and he was _not_ jealous. 

The kiss Stefon gave Seth that time was a fast peck beside his mouth, but he assured everyone he’d do it properly for the live audience. Seth believed him.

It wasn’t that, alone, Stefon was a completely different person, but there was definitely an “on” and an “off” persona, just as there was with all of them. It was part of being a television personality. Either some part of you was private, or you were going to implode, personally, professionally, or both.

It was easier in front of the audience because it wasn’t _them_ exactly. It was the lines they’d read and the jokes they’d been making on camera for the past two years—not the friends who walked in the ocean at night or shared deep thoughts on paper lined with pirate cats. 

And for the live audience, Stefon definitely laid “a big one on him.”

Classic straight-man style, Seth barely reacted. He didn’t even move. Just let himself be kissed (and slapped, which _wasn’t_ in the script), then fixed his papers and delivered the set up for Stefon’s final punchline. They hadn’t made it through without breaking, but they’d made it through.

After the show, while music still played during tear down, Seth found himself in his office, intently looking for something he couldn’t remember why he’d needed. Energy buzzed under his skin, making him restless and twitchy. Pheromones, he remembered. Pheromones were a thing and it was chemical, biological, part of being human, and Stefon had smelled _so good_ , even in those clothes that had probably been washed twice since he’d given them to the show. His hair product and the lotion he used and his skin.

A small knock sounded at his door and he looked up from the pages he wasn’t really reading to see Stefon leaning against the jamb. He was back in his own clothes now, some fashionable black sweatshirt with hot pink splashed on it like a Pink Panther crime scene. 

“What’re you looking for?”

“I don’t remember,” Seth answered honestly. He crossed to the door. He’d not changed after Update, not yet. “Did you ask John to write that bit?”

Stefon shook his head. His hair was still firm and styled. “No. He asked _me_ if it’d be okay to write it.”

“Oh. He asked me too.”

“Oh.” Stefon’s lips twisted, tongue tapping against his top lip, which Seth only really noticed because he was staring. 

It’d been so long since he wanted to kiss someone. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , he thought, because that couldn’t be true; he was _with Allie_. He’d kissed people because he should, because it was scripted, because he knew they wanted him to…but looking at Stefon, he’d forgotten how overwhelming it could be to _want_ someone.

“You’re still wearing the button,” Stefon said. 

“I’m still wearing the button.” Seth nodded once, his voice strong, even with his heart in his throat.

Stefon glanced down the hallway, then one ringed hand came to his shoulder. He pushed Seth back, only about a foot, into his office, into some semblance of privacy. 

When he kissed Seth this time, it wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t close-mouthed and innocent either. His broad hands gripped Seth’s jaw, angled him upward and met his lips with his own softly open, tongue gentle and warm. Heat spread down Seth’s shoulders like sparking lava. Then Stefon’s touch was gone.

“Mmmm.” Stefon hummed, pleased, smiling at him. 

Seth may have chased his mouth with his own, he wasn’t sure, but he was craned forward in a way he hadn’t been. Stefon’s body was still leaning, too, as if he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, to press him back against the desk. Seth wasn’t sure he’d object.

“Good night, Seth Meyers.”

Seth could feel his breath on his lips, so it took a second for the words to reach his brain. “You’re leaving?” he asked when they had.

“Don’t want to ruin a good thing.” Stefon shifted on his long legs, bending the heels of his sparkly boots. “I always ruin good things.” Then, he gave him another quick kiss, barely a peck, like he couldn’t help himself, and disappeared into the corridor. 

He and Allie broke up a few weeks later.

It wasn’t because of anything Seth had done, but because Allie’s friend called in a favor and gotten her hired to run sound for some big superhero movie out in Los Angeles. That was her dream job—both sound design on features and the more temperate climes of California. She’d talked about it on their first date, so Seth could hardly begrudge her the move. But he couldn’t follow her. His dream job and all his other ambitions were right here in New York City.

It was part of dating in their 30s, they decided somberly, holding hands across the plastic checkerboard tablecloth of a pizzeria. Sometimes lives didn’t mesh, even when the people did.

They gave each other a long, strong hug and then said goodbye.

He sat alone at the table for a few minutes, watching people bundle by in their thick winter coats, staring at the snow turned gray slush splashing beneath passing car tires. He fought the urge, then gave into it and texted Stefon. **free for coffee?**

The reply came quickly. **for you? always ;x**

They met a half-hour later at a place near 30 Rockefeller and Seth didn’t say anything about Allie or the breakup. Instead, he listened as Stefon talked lightly about heavy things.

“…so we’re spending Christmas together because she needs a designated driver for this holiday bender with her Harley friends. She promised Stefon, of course,” he said, pointing to himself with both index fingers. “But I don’t have a car. I told her that. She told me to rent one. On Christmas day. ‘Who’s paying for that?’ I asked. What did she say?” He double-pointed to himself again. 

Stefon had seemingly unlimited patience for his mother’s failings. Seth found it hard to find his own when he saw the shuttered hurt behind his friend’s good-natured eye rolls. “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas?” His mouth said it before his mind truly thought it.

Stefon’s eyes widened comically over his steaming latte. “For real?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“My mom’s big plans, obviously.” 

“Well, _my_ mom has wanted to meet you for years.”

“Seth Meyers,” he cooed. “You’ve talked to your mom about me?”

“She watches the show, Stefon,” Seth replied, even though the answer was yes. Of course he’d told his mom stories about Stefon, he was just about the most interesting person he’d ever met. “I know they’d love to have you. I’m only going for four days and you can use my dad’s study if you need to do some writing. You can tell your mom you can’t be her DD because you have plans out of town.”

Stefon eyed him. “What would your girlfriend say?”

_Oh, right._

“Uh, actually.” Seth shifted in his chair, tugging pointlessly on his coat as though it wasn’t neat as a pin. “We broke up.”

He expected some hoot of delight or an aggressive come-on, but except for a surprised bounce of his eyebrows, Stefon didn’t respond at all. When he did, it was with a sincere, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Seth said, nodding. “I am. It was about as nice as a breakup can be.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause you’re a catch, Seth. I know at least 10 people who would jump at the chance to sink their teeth into your—”

“Anyway! I’m leaving Sunday!” Seth laughed, shaking his head at the mischievous glint in Stefon’s gaze. “I don’t ever want to know how that sentence was going to end. I’m leaving Sunday, I can pick you up. _I’ll_ rent the car.”

“Okay.” Stefon smiled, small and sweet, wiggling his shoulders.

“All right, good.”

“I’ll make the playlist.”

“Oh, no.”

____

“Is this track seven hours long? What is this?”

They had just merged onto Interstate 95 when Seth had finally had enough of whatever atonal ambient noise Stefon had pumping through the car’s speakers.

“It’s Cuideachadh.”

“Quidditch?” Seth turned down the volume.

Stefon turned it back up. “Cuideachadh! It’s innovative.”

“It’s a crime against music!” Seth switched to the radio, welcoming the crackle of static from the out-of-range NYC stations.

Stefon sat rigidly in the passenger seat, pouting. “Technically, we’re both right,” he said, starting to fiddle with the controls and find a station. “Cuideachadh samples 999 calls from Scotland.”

“999 calls. Like emergency calls. You made us a playlist of a band—”

“—an _artist_.”

“—a person.”

“Mmhm. From Iowa.”

“—a singular person _from Iowa_ who samples the phone calls of Scottish people in danger.” 

“Yesss,” Stefon answered, hissing out the S.

“Stefon!”

“Stefon!” Stefon parroted. “Okay, okay.” His tongue slid to the edge of his mouth as he circled through the numbers on the dial. He was grinning, and Seth half-suspected Cuideachadh had been more prank than playlist. After a few seconds, Stefon stopped on a station playing The Lumineers. He immediately started singing along, “ _So show me family, all the blood that I will bleed..._ ”

“What?!” Seth hollered, gripping the steering wheel. He stared at the traffic ahead, but eyed Stefon bopping beside him. “You know this song? This is so normal.”

“I’m cultured, Seth!”

Seth just let out a long, surprised laugh and started belting out the chorus with him. “ _I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart!_ ” He grinned. Inviting Stefon had been a great idea. 

Two hours later they found themselves in a dead spot between radio stations. The radio scanned around and around the dial, finding only static. In the white noise, Seth finally worked up the courage to ask what he didn’t really want to know. “Okay, tell me about your boyfriend,” he said. “Is he okay with you coming on this trip?”

“What boyfriend?”

“That guy you mentioned a while back. The one with the tattoo of a screaming eagle.”

“A screagle.”

“Yeah, okay. Him.”

“Right.” Stefon fiddled with his ringed fingers. “We broke up. In March. Because of the kiss.”

“What kiss? The St. Patrick’s Day bit? He broke up with you because of that?”

“Not exactly,” Stefon said. “He was _mad_ about the kiss because he said I didn’t tell him, but I did tell him, he just wasn’t listening and didn’t care until he saw you, and then _I_ broke up with _him_ because he didn’t listen to me and he was mad at me for kissing you on TV.”

Of course neither of them mentioned that there’d been a second kiss that night, one that would have rightfully made both Allie and Screagle Guy unhappy.

They drove along in silence, the tires hum-thumping on the roadway and Seth realized they were two single, not-straight men driving home to share his childhood bedroom for three nights. “Oh. Okay,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yes. It was…a while ago…now.”

“Okay.” Seth twisted his hands on the wheel.

“Should I put on some music?” Stefon asked.

“Definitely not.”

“Okay.” Stefon stared out the window at the trees lining the highway. “How about a true crime podcast?”

Seth mulled it over, weighing the risks. “Okay.” 

By the time they pulled up to his parents’ house, Seth knew more than he’d ever wanted to know about the Manson Family.

A flurry of handshakes, hugs, and “Hiiis!” welcomed them to the Meyers household as they managed to arrive the same time as a gaggle of Seth’s cousins for the traditional family Christmas Eve Eve dinner.

“Christmas Adam,” Stefon murmured to him as they squeezed through the door with their bags. 

“No,” Seth said.

His mother greeted him with a long hug. She shook Stefon’s hand behind his back, still holding him tight. “I’m so glad to meet you!”

“Hi, I’m Stefon.” He shook the snow off his glittering boots.

“I know who you are,” she said, letting go of Seth to pull a startled Stefon into a hug. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek as cousins wrestled themselves out of their hulking winter coats and handed over pies and side dishes.

“Oh. Thank you for having me, Mrs. Meyers.”

Seth turned. He couldn’t help smiling at Stefon’s discomfort, and his family’s. His dad and uncle went to Stefon for good manly handshakes and had no idea what to do with his gentle-fingered Queen-of-England grip. Ah, Seth was happy to be home.

Christmas music played from a speaker in the living room, accompanying the loud conversation and laughter. His brother Josh wouldn’t be home until tomorrow, and it was just as well as they crowded around the dining room table. Half of them were on folding chairs pulled from the garage. Seth found himself wedged onto a piano bench beside Stefon.

“Sorry,” he said, noticing too keenly the press of Stefon’s thigh against his.

“Don’t be.” Stefon smirked a little and let out a small breath through pursed lips.

Seth did, too. He noticed Stefon’s hands were trembling like they did in his early days on Update and he resisted the urge to still them with his own. “You okay?”

“Mmhm.” Stefon gave an exaggerated nod. 

“Relax, buddy.” Beneath the table, Seth let himself pat Stefon’s knee. “You’re doing great.”

It seemed that Stefon’s joke about never being invited to “normal Christmas” hadn’t been a joke at all. His dark-lined eyes scanned the table laden with bread rolls, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole as though he’d never seen anything like it. He looked at Seth’s cheerfully chatting family members like a startled deer.

“I like your shirt.”

Stefon turned to Seth’s 13-year-old cousin Emily, who was seated on his other side. Her clothes were almost as colorful and sparkly as Stefon’s. Seth wouldn’t have been that surprised to find out they shopped at the same place.

“Thank you,” Stefon said. “I like yours too.”

“Really?!” Emily beamed at him, her toothy smile shiny with braces. She looked down at her own bedazzled unicorn shirt. 

“Yes. I like unicorns.”

“Have you ever heard of Dark Wing unicorns?”

Stefon’s expression became very grave. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. 

If Seth had tried to guess who Stefon would click with in his family, he would never have picked Emily. But it made sense. Emily was exceptionally smart and Stefon was the sort of adult who had sincere thoughts about unicorns. Seth got into a chat with his uncle and wasn’t surprised to check in a few minutes later to find Stefon and Emily were now discussing bearded dragons and the tomb of King Tut. She clearly thought Stefon was the coolest person she’d ever met, and Seth was pleased to see Stefon’s hands were steady when he passed the potatoes to Emily’s mom.

“I probably missed it, but what do you do, Steven?” Uncle Chuck asked, digging into the pumpkin pie.

“Ste _fon_ ,” Seth and Emily corrected. 

“Stefon,” Stefon muttered under his breath, taking the tiniest lick of whipped cream from his fork.

“He’s on Seth’s show, Dad.” Emily rolled her eyes.

“You really should watch, Chuck.” Seth’s mom served her sister a slice of pie before starting to cut into the apple. “Stefon does this skit where he’s a city reporter—

“Correspondent,” Stefon and Seth said together.

“Excuse me, city _correspondent_ , and Seth is always asking for recommendations for tourists coming to New York and Stefon suggests all about these crazy night clubs with dogs and celebrities and puppets in house coats,” she explained. “Those writers—they come up with all sorts of nutty stuff for him to say.”

Stefon’s eyebrow quirked and Seth suppressed his smile; people always assumed more of the clubs were made up than actually were.

“Huh,” Uncle Chuck said, clearly not getting the appeal. “Seth’s in these skits, too?”

“Seth’s a straight man.” 

Stefon choked on his water. Seth reflexively grabbed his leg under the table. “Sorry,” Stefon said. “I swallowed wrong.”

“What’s a straight man?” Emily asked.

“You’re at a table full of ‘em!” Uncle Chuck raised his hand to be counted and let out a bellowing laugh that made its way around the table. “No offense, Stefon.”

Stefon tilted his head curiously.

“God, Dad.” Emily gave her dad the sort disgusted look only a teenage girl can perfect. “No, I meant in, like, Cousin Seth’s thing. What’s a straight man in _that_?”

“Em, ‘the straight man’ is a character in a comedy duo,” Seth said, leaning forward on the table with his elbows. If there’s one thing he could do, it was talk about comedy. “The straight man stays calm and serious, while the other one—” he put his hand on Stefon’s shoulder—“is eccentric and erratic and gets to make all the jokes. So really, _I’m_ the reason Stefon’s funny.”

“It’s true, that’s true.” Stefon nodded. He gave Seth a crooked smile. 

His cousins left a little after 11 p.m. Emily gave Stefon a huge hug and Seth heard her whispering that she was “sorry about my dad. He’s archaic.”

As Seth’s dad locked the door and turned off the porch light, he turned to his wife. “You ready for bed?” he asked, letting out a yawn. Seth knew his parents were usually in bed by 9:30 p.m., so he volunteered himself and Stefon to do the cleaning up.

“You drove all day,” his mom argued.

“So? You hosted all day.” Seth grabbed the dish rag from her hand. “We got this.”

“Okay,” she relented, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, boys. Stefon, so glad to have you here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Meyers.” Stefon pulled on his sleeves. She gave him a kiss on his cheek, too, and a fragile sort of smile curved Stefon’s lips. 

“Night, boys,” Seth’s dad called as he followed his wife up the stairs.

The Christmas music continued to play in the darkened house as Seth and Stefon did the dishes. The yellow light over the sink made a golden spotlight and a few candles still flickered on the kitchen island. Seth dried and put away the pots and pans, since he was the one who actually knew where they went. 

As he stood on a step stool, clattering the pans around until he fit the casserole dish back in the cupboard over the stove, he looked over. Stefon stood at the sink, sleeves rolled to his elbows and hands sunk in sudsy water as he scrubbed. He idly hummed along to “All I Want For Christmas is You” and Seth felt something he couldn’t describe swirl inside him. 

Strange, perfect Stefon. Comfortable with a coked-up Gizmo and flustered by a mother’s kiss on his cheek. Able to converse easily with both 13-year-old girls and elderly celebrity impersonators. Simultaneously the most unsettling and most comforting person in his life. 

Seth blew out the candles and silenced the music before he led Stefon up the stairs to his old bedroom. As his parents had promised, the air mattress was inflated and resting on the floor beside his full-size bed. He flipped the light switch, illuminating his trusty blue lava lamp. The room had been otherwise stripped of Seth’s stuff during its rebirth as a guest room, but the lava lamp remained, along with a few pinned photos on a bulletin board and one big frame bearing Seth’s senior portrait—classic pose, in a suit and tie with his hand on his chin. 

He shut the door quietly behind them before toeing off his shoes. Tired, Seth dropped his bag and flopped down on his covers, still in his clothes, as Stefon unzipped and removed his boots. 

“Am I sleeping on the floor?”

Seth opened one eye to peer at Stefon. “On an air mattress, yeah. Don’t pretend to be a diva. You told me about sleeping on the grocery store conveyor belt, remember.”

Stefon smirked and circled the room, zeroing in on the portrait immediately. “I like this.”

“I don’t.”

“So, can I have it? I could hang it over my bed. On the ceiling, not the wall.”

“Stefon,” Seth chastised weakly, burying his face in his blankets to hide his smile. When he opened his eyes again, Stefon was examining the snapshots, leaning close to them in the dim room. “Those are mostly from high school.” It lingered in his mind that Stefon had never really gone to high school, and probably didn’t have happy memories and photos of the one year he had. For a moment, Seth felt guilty that he’d had a calmer life, or maybe sad that Stefon hadn’t; probably a mix of both.

“You’re so cute in your little debate club jacket.”

“I still have that.”

Stefon turned, fingers crossed on both hands. “Tell me it still fits.”

“Sorry, no.” 

Stefon gave an exaggerated pout. “Next you’ll ruin my fantasies and tell me you sleep just like that in all your clothes.”

“No. It’s, like, 9 degrees outside. I’m freezing. I’ll get up and shower in a second.” Seth tugged on the blankets until he could maneuver himself underneath them. As a kid, he’d liked having the window by the bed for those nice summer sunrises, but it leaked cold air like a sieve in the winter. He tugged the blankets around his shoulder then peered warily at Stefon. “Wait. What do you sleep in?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Stefon settled himself across the air mattress. It had blankets and pillows, too, of course, because his mom was the best.

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

“Brrr, Seth. It’s cold down here. Hot air rises you know.”

Seth rolled his eyes and leaned over. “There’s an electric blanket, Stefon.” He found the cord and pulled until he got his hands on the controller. “You just have to turn it on.” He set it to high before tossing it at Stefon’s chest.

“Thank you.” Stefon pouted again, staring up at Seth in the undulating blue glow of the lava lamp.

Seth finally relented with a sigh. “Get up here.” 

Stefon scrambled to his knees and scooted in beside Seth, who made room for him by sliding himself back against the wall under the window. The bed was almost too small for one adult man, let alone two, but Stefon fit under the blankets with him easily, playful and cajoling like they were little boys. It was already much warmer, and Seth thought distantly, _that’s because you’re playing with fire._

Stefon stilled finally, facing Seth as they both rested their heads on the pillows. “The city still feels colder, don’t you think?”

Seth nodded. “Probably the wind off the water.”

“And all the buildings make wind tunnels and wooosh, wind chill of minus 70.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Stefon.”

“In bed with you?”

“I meant here in New Hampshire, with my family, for Christmas, but yeah, I guess in the bed too. It is warmer.”

Stefon gave a smile that was equal parts warm and flirtatious. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s exciting to see the origin story of Seth Meyers. No wonder you’re so normal.”

“What do you think we would have thought of each other in high school?”

“Well, we wouldn’t have been in high school together because I’m _so_ much younger—”

“Shut up,” Seth said fondly.

“—but I would have thought you were cool and serious and I would never have a chance with you, so I would have annoyed you all the time just to get your attention.”

“So just like now.”

“Just like now.”

Stefon looked at him with fragile hope in his eyes, and he seemed young, here in Seth’s bed. A stray lock of highlighted hair fell across his forehead and Seth smoothed it back without thinking, his fingertips whispering against the warm skin of Stefon’s cheek.

They just looked at each other in the glow of the lava lamp. Seth didn’t know what kept Stefon looking, but he was memorizing all the little parts of Stefon’s face he liked so much and trying to understand why, _why_ he liked Stefon’s face so much more than anyone else’s. His eyes were shining dark, just like they’d been on that turtle beach and suddenly Seth couldn’t take it anymore. Stefon’s voice, his laugh, his smile, his smell; he couldn’t breathe for the _want_ drowning his lungs.

He pressed forward to kiss him and Stefon let out a tiny sigh to kiss him back. Seth did what he’d been wanting to do. He stroked his hand over the curve of his broad shoulder, down his arm. When his hand found Stefon’s waist, he curled his fingers beneath his sweatshirt to find smooth skin. Stefon slid his ringed fingers into Seth’s hair.

They made out like two teenagers who’d just learned how and were reveling in it. Stefon was as good with his tongue as Seth’s fevered daydreams had occasionally let him imagine, and judging by Stefon’s soft whimpering sounds, Seth was giving as good as he received. It was a new feeling, the scratch of stubble against his chin, but he didn’t hate it. 

It was Seth who started it and Seth who pushed it further when he slid his fingers beneath the back of Stefon’s jeans, his palm against the warm heat of his spine.

Stefon shivered and broke the kiss. “What do you want to do, Seth Meyers?”

“I know,” Seth said, which he knew didn’t make sense. He just kissed Stefon again, because after all this time, he knew he wanted to do that. By way of a real answer, he pulled Stefon’s hand down to feel him hard in his jeans. Stefon took it from there, and did it _so well_ that Seth had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Some voice in his head mumbled at him that _if you can’t say it, you shouldn’t do it_ , but none of those lessons gave any guidance to a grown man who hadn’t thought he was attracted to men but couldn’t keep his hands off one. 

Seth mouthed at his neck, breathing him in, and sliding his hands to Stefon’s belly. “What about you…?” he breathed against his skin and instantly felt one of Stefon’s hands join his in unfastening the button and zip on his own jeans. A boldness he didn’t know he had made him slide his palm inside as soon as the barrier was out of the way.

Stefon grunted, a low pleased sound. “Unh, fuck, Seth,” he hissed, hooking a knee around Seth’s hip and bringing their bodies together. Panic rumbled at the edges of Seth’s mind, but he kept it at bay with the wonder bubbling through him at how easy it was to bring such hot, desperate gasps to Stefon’s throat. 

It was a high school thing, a messy fumble of handjobs that was over in a matter of minutes, and Seth, gasping and sweaty, felt suddenly embarrassed to be so far behind. _You’re not who you thought you were. You should have done all of this 20 years ago. Why didn’t you know this about yourself? What else don’t you know about yourself?_

As if he could sense the storm brewing, Stefon started talking. Seth caught the altered names of half-remembered celebrities from the ‘80s and a couple of names he definitely didn’t know whispered low and reverently like, _really? you should._

“I don’t believe any of those people are real.” Seth wiped at the sweat dampening his hairline, feeling calmer.

“All of them are,” Stefon said. “Everyone I’ve ever mentioned is completely real.”

Seth turned to him, eyes narrowed. “You know I know that’s not true.”

Stefon just smirked, head pillowed on his arm. He’d been trying to comfort Seth and it had worked. Seth smiled a silent thank you.

They hadn’t even taken off any clothes. The neck of Stefon’s shirt was stretched from where Seth had pulled it aside to bite at the sensitive joint of his shoulder and neck. In the shifting blue light, he looked kiss-messy with his hair and clothes rumpled. If Seth had ever thought an orgasm would get this out of his system, he was wrong; Stefon looked so fucking sexy, Seth just wanted to keep touching him.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said. He was just about to explain why they should definitely not shower together in his parents’ house, when Stefon said, “You go first. I’ll take one after you.”

“I’ll be quick.” Seth climbed over him to get out of the bed. He grabbed his bag and pulled the whole thing with him into the bathroom. That same bathroom where he showered every morning before high school, which didn’t help him feel like the nearly 40-year-old man he was. The one who had just hooked up with one of his closest friends and had no idea what to do about it. Except that he was pretty sure he wanted to do it again.

His exhaustion returned beneath the warm spray of the water, effectively muting the loudest of his anxieties. He pulled on his pajama pants and t-shirt, then rolled his dirty clothes into a ball under his arm before tiptoeing back down the dark hallway to his bedroom. 

Stefon hopped from the bed when he entered. “My turn,” he said. He left the room with his little green backpack, planting a kiss on Seth’s cheek. 

Seth tossed his clothes in the corner and stepped over the air mattress to crawl into his bed. He fell to his belly, face in a pillow. It still smelled like Stefon and his stomach flipped to breathe it in.

When he heard the shower squeak to a stop a few minutes later, he turned to face the window, his back to the door. He didn’t know if he wanted Stefon to sleep with him or not. He didn’t know if he should tell him to get back into the bed or not. He didn’t know what to do with anything he was thinking and feeling. He couldn’t give a name to what he was thinking and feeling.

Stefon dropped his backpack and Seth heard the odd crinkle of the air mattress as he settled down on it. “Sweet dreams, Seth Meyers,” he whispered.

Seth pretended to be asleep and hated himself for it.

____

Sun streamed in through the window when he blinked awake in the morning. Water dripped from the panes as the overnight frost slowly melted in the sunrise. Seth let out a deep breath and turned to find the air mattress empty.

He got dressed and headed for the stairs. He heard voices before he got there. He recognized his mother’s right away, followed by Stefon’s rumbling tenor. Seth slowed nearly to a stop. He’d snuck out enough times as a teenager to know how to get down the stairs without making a sound, so he saw them before they knew he was there.

His mother cracked eggs over a bowl as a skillet warmed on the stove behind her. Stefon sat at the kitchen island across from her, still in his pajamas and cradling a mug of coffee. Christmas music already played lowly; there were certain unfailing traditions in the Meyers household. Seth couldn’t hear their conversation, hushed out of kindness for those sleeping, but he knew when his mother’s laugh was real. This was real.

Stefon looked sleep-soft in pajama pants dotted with dollar signs and a baggy, long-sleeved t-shirt with “Delta Middle School P.T.A.” emblazoned on the front. His hair, washed and cleaned but not styled, curled around his ears. 

Seth continued down the stairs until he stepped into the kitchen in his socked feet.

“Good morning, honey,” his mom said. “You look nice.”

Stefon smiled at him a bit breathlessly like he thought so too. Seth tugged on his sweater. His mom had gotten it for him, that’s why he’d put it on. “Morning, thanks,” Seth said, pulling his eyes from Stefon. 

“Stefon’s been keeping me company. Breakfast’ll be ready in a bit.”

“I can help.” Seth stepped to his mother’s side of the island. “Anything need chopping?”

“Yep!” His mom placed a green pepper, an onion, and bowl of mushrooms down in front of him beside the cutting board.

Stefon set down his coffee mug and slid off his stool. “I should get dressed. And then I can...come help...with...the food.” He awkwardly trailed his bare fingers across the countertop. 

Seth focused on the vegetables, watching out of his periphery as Stefon disappeared up the stairs. 

“I’m glad you finally brought him to visit,” his mom said, vigorously whisking the eggs. “He’s sweet.”

“Sweet? That’s not usually the word people use for Stefon.”

“No, he is,” she laughed. “He’s like a weird baby lamb.”

Seth snorted, and in his head, Stefon’s voice bleated, _Accurate!_ “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, he kinda is.”

“Those clubs he goes to are unbelievable. I thought you made all that up.”

“No. Stefon’s lived it. Well, most of it. A lot of it.”

“More of it than he probably should have, by the sounds of it.”

“Probably,” Seth said. “But it’s made him who he is.”

His mom paused just long enough that Seth turned to see her giving him a shrewd, appraising gaze. “Look at you. So philosophical.”

Stefon hurried down the stairs just a few minutes later, and Seth’s breath caught in his chest for second too long. Nice jeans, his nicest Ed Hardy riot-of-colors hoodie and his blond-streaked hair still softly unstyled, he looked about as handsome as Seth had ever seen him.

“What can I do?” he asked eagerly.

Seth’s mom kept a careful eye on the omelet sizzling in the pan. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Not even a little,” Stefon said.

“Well, get over here then. You’re gonna learn.”

Stefon trotted to her side and took the offered spatula from her, rings shining on his fingers. “Don’t let me ruin your breakfast.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything, honey,” Seth’s mom said, patting Stefon’s shoulder.

Seth blamed the onions for the burning in his eyes. 

Josh arrived in the middle of breakfast because of course he did. It was very like his brother to arrive at an arbitrary time on a holiday without a word to anyone. Seth had missed him. The Meyers at the table jumped to their feet to exchange gregarious hugs and greetings when the front door opened.

Stefon stood tensely, smiling tight and tugging on his sleeves as Seth made the introductions. “Hi,” he said to Josh in his usual hushed tone. He seemed most anxious around Seth’s dad and his brother, which Seth supposed he understood. Every truly hateful incident Stefon had ever recounted to him started with “some guy.”

“Hey, man…” Josh replied curiously, head quirked. He clearly had no idea what to make of Stefon. The handshake didn’t help.

Seth cringed inwardly, wanting to soothe Stefon’s nerves and having no idea how to do that without changing every single thing about this family gathering. “Josh, man, grab a plate,” he said, changing the subject instead. “What do you want in your eggs?”

After breakfast, they launched into the other Meyers family traditions. “It’s A Wonderful Life” on the TV while they decorated the tree, which Seth’s parents preferred to do with at least one of their kids there to help (Stefon had a great time inspecting the homemade ornaments, namely the ones with Seth’s elementary school pictures surrounded by green-painted pasta), lunch was leftovers from yesterday’s Eve Eve feast, and then, after sundown, a Christmas Eve walk through the Christmas light display along the Merrimack River. Seth and Josh both felt a little too old for a freezing cold wander beside giant glowing elves and reindeer, but it made his parents happy. It seemed to make Stefon happy, too. He gazed up at the entrance’s illuminated canopy of white lights with an unexpected amount of wonder. Seth would have called it “childlike wonder,” except for Stefon saying as an aside, “Reminds me of Blitzen! The eight gay Aladdins would string white Christmas lights from their—”

“Okay,” Seth interrupted, patting him on the back. “I got it.”

“It was impressive. Do you know how hard it is to coordinate eight huge—”

“Stefon, not when my parents are within ear shot, buddy.”

Stefon glanced up at his Seth’s dad leading the way. “Oh, right.” 

Josh heard all of it, though, and laughed uncomfortably. “He’s for real?” 

Seth nodded. “He is.”

“It takes a lot of body control...” Stefon murmured. “That’s all I was saying...”

They wandered through the display of huge glimmering ornaments, 15-foot trees shining green, and a larger-than-life blinking red Santa before pausing by one of the patio heaters stationed at a few strategic locations, usually near places to donate to the park or buy something that would fund the park.

“Come with me.” Stefon grabbed his coat sleeve and dragged him toward the little kiosk of high-priced holiday tchotchkes.

“What is it?” Seth asked. For one panicked second, he thought Stefon was looking for a dark, secret place to kiss him, and he didn’t know if he was going to resist that or not.

Instead, Stefon stopped at the kiosk and scanned the rows of hot chocolate tins, ornaments, and snow globes with an intensity Seth did not understand. “Do your parents like snow globes?” he asked.

“Snow globes?”

“They don’t need more ornaments. Your mom said so.” Stefon peered over his shoulder to see that Seth’s parents were still talking with Josh by the heater. “Do they like hot chocolate?”

“I guess? Why?”

“I didn’t bring them anything. I should have brought them a present. As a guest. They’ve been so nice to me and I didn’t bring anything.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m a bad guest.”

Seth fought the laughter bubbling in his chest; Stefon’s fear was ridiculous, but he could tell by his eyes that it didn’t feel that way to him. “You’re not a bad guest. They’re happy to have you.”

“I didn’t think to help your mom with breakfast until you said it. No one invites me over.” He dragged trembling hands over his face.

Seth pulled his hands down by his wrists and kept hold. “Relax, Stefon. They like having you here, I promise. My mom even said you were sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Yep. Like a weird baby lamb.”

Stefon looked inexpressibly touched. “ _Your mom_ is sweet.”

“She is.”

“I should have brought her a present.” 

Seth smiled and felt so fond he could have drowned in it. “She loves hot chocolate. Add peppermint, and it’s even better.”

“Okay.” Stefon nodded. He scanned the kiosk with renewed focus and selected a red-and-white striped tin with a shaky hand. “What about your dad?”

“Oh, god. _I_ don’t even know what to get my dad. Don’t worry about him.” He tugged Stefon toward the register.

After his parents went to sleep, they stayed up late talking with Josh, drinking beers in the gentle glow of the Christmas tree lights. Stefon sat on the floor cross-legged, carefully closing the hot chocolate tin in shiny snowflake-covered wrapping paper as Josh regaled him with tales of the “wild parties” he’d been to in Austin. 

Seth watched closely and swore he caught it: the exact moment when Stefon’s expression pinched and the thought _It’s cute you think that’s wild_ went through his head. For just a flash, of course, then he was listening to Josh with sweet-faced open interest again. Seth was enjoying it all just as much as he thought he would.

Not long after midnight, Stefon disappeared to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up for bed. Seth felt the soft-light silence with Josh like an open door. He could tell him now, he realized. He could interrupt Josh’s story about work to "come out," officially. He could come out to someone besides Stefon. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d say, but he could tell him. _Hey, you know, just thought I’d mention I’m not straight._ Or _Just FYI, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual._

He’d heard coming out stories hundreds of times before, but god, it felt different from the inside. There was just this open air between him and someone he loved and he could say something and it might change nothing and it might change _everything_ , and it wasn’t something Josh really needed to know anyway. What obligation did he really have to come out at 39 when he wasn’t... What was happening with Stefon wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was Seth’s business, Seth’s life, and it made no real sense to have to flag people in his life that _hey, I also like guys sometimes, too, that’s all, carry on about your day._

Stefon returned and the moment passed.

“You ready for bed?” Seth asked him.

Stefon halted. He glanced between Seth and his brother and nodded minutely. A strange look crossed Josh’s face, which was when Seth realized he’d sounded just like his father talking to his mother. “I’m tired,” he added, stifling a yawn. “So, I’m—I’m gonna go to sleep. You can stay up if you want, Stefon.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay.” Seth walked over to his brother and patted his shoulder. “Good night, buddy.”

Josh stood to hug him. “Good night, man, good to see you. Stefon,” he said, reaching out for another handshake because he’d learned nothing.

“Good night,” Stefon said, arms tight and mouth small.

All the way up the stairs, Seth thought of what he’d say to Stefon to help him understand why last night couldn’t happen again. Then, as soon as his bedroom door shut, he pushed Stefon against it, attacking his mouth with a kiss that felt feral. 

“Sorry,” he gasped, immediately contrite. “Is this—are you okay?”

“Yes.” Stefon backed him toward the bed. “Yesyesyesyesyes.” He gentled the kiss and that felt so much better.

“Wait.” Seth stopped him again. He grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it down on the air vent in the floor. He’d learned the hard way that noise from his room traveled to Josh’s. “Blocks the noise.”

“Mmm, sounds like there’s a story there, Seth Meyers.”

Seth grabbed Stefon by the waist. “Shut up.”

“Gladly.”

He dropped to sit on the mattress, pulling Stefon to straddle his lap, and he yanked his shirt off over his head. He was determined to get them naked this time. Chest bare, Stefon leaned over to lick into his mouth.

His childhood bedroom definitely hadn’t seen this much action when he was actually living in it.

____

On Christmas morning, Seth came down the stairs to find Stefon fully dressed and helping his mother make breakfast. Seth happily ate every overcooked misshapen pancake he made, and they lazily opened presents around the tree. His mom cooed appropriately over the tin of hot chocolate and gave Stefon another kiss on the cheek.

Seth spent half the day trying to decide how to tell Stefon that all this was a one-time thing and the other half pulling him into bathrooms and alcoves to kiss him. When everyone took naps around the middle of the day, he tugged him up the stairs to make out in his bedroom. Absolutely no time was spent focusing on his actual family and the actual holiday going on around him. Instead he fixated on how Stefon’s teeth felt biting hotly at the hinge of his jaw. He felt insane.

With the house dark and quiet that night, they covered the air vent with a pillow and fooled around until they were sweaty and sated, and the only heat in the room was trapped with them beneath the blankets. They fell asleep on the air mattress. Seth woke up early to do laundry and change the well-used sheets on his bed. 

The morning brought the drive back home. Josh and his parents stood in the snow outside the front door, waving them off while Seth backed the car away from the house and Stefon waved vigorously beside him. Seth’s last sight through the snow-foggy windshield was his mother curled up under his father’s arm as he pressed a kiss to her head. Something heavy and cold sank in his gut. 

“Classic _al_ or classic rock?” Stefon asked, fidgeting with the radio. 

“How ‘bout we finish off that podcast?”

“There’s like five hours left.”

“Yeah,” Seth shrugged. “We got time.”

For the next five hours, between bathroom breaks and gas station stops, they listened to crime after crime. But different images stuck in the corners of Seth’s mind: his mother under his dad’s arm, the way he could curl around her and kiss her head, Allie under his arm and the kiss they shared to welcome 2012 almost a year ago. When Stefon drove, Seth retreated into the unconsciousness of sleep, but his thoughts kept spinning. He thought of every vague vision he’d ever had of his future—a beautiful wife, rushing through a hospital at her side for the birth of their first child, nighttime diaper changes and family photos. Stefon made idle conversation, shared his usual asides and strange connections to murders of which, really, “You have too many of those, Stefon,” Seth said, but returning to the city felt like returning to reality. It was returning to the world of all Seth’s dreams and ambitions. 

The day had nearly faded away when Seth, back at the wheel, pulled up along the curb outside Stefon’s apartment.

Stefon unplugged his phone from the speakers, fiddling with it nervously. A tiny, gentle smile played over his lips. “You going into the studio tomorrow?” he asked.

Seth nodded, hands still gripping the wheel. “Probably. We’re right back at it after the new year, so…”

“Want me to bring you dinner? From a restaurant. I promise I won’t start cooking for you. Yet.”

“Stefon,” Seth began, a sick sensation swirling in his stomach. “I don’t think we should do this.”

Stefon stared at him a moment. The sun had begun to set behind the buildings, casting the car half in sunlight and half in the artificial electric-red of the Radio Shack sign. “You mean meet at the studio? That’s okay,” he said. “If you need this to be secret, Seth, I understand. Not everyone’s life makes it easy to come out. You would not believe some of the secret celebrity relationships going on.”

“No, I mean I don’t think we should do any of this.”

Stefon looked blindsided and Seth couldn’t blame him. 

“Obviously there’s an attraction here,” he explained, gesturing between the two of them, “but I still see myself ending up with a woman. I want to get married and have kids someday, and I just want to be honest with you because you deserve someone who wants the same things you do.”

“But...those _are_ the things I want. I want marriage and kids, too.”

“I know, but I see myself with a woman. That’s the future I see for myself.”

“So, you just like guys for sex, not relationships.” Stefon’s voice took a hard edge he’d never heard before.

“This isn't easy for me, okay? As kids, we get a lot of messages to, you know, be straight—”

Stefon snorted derisively. “Yeah, I know.”

“—and I _do_ like girls, so I guess it was easy to just…focus on that and live my life. It didn’t...no one really...I mean, you’re the first guy I’ve really wanted to...” Seth didn’t know how or if he could finish that sentence, so he let it be more honest: “You’re the first man I really wanted.”

“So this was to get it out of your system.”

“No, Stefon,” he insisted, even as nausea roiled through his belly because maybe that’s exactly what it’d been. “I—I care about you.”

“You care—” Stefon croaked. Seth had heard his voice strained to hold back laughter before. Hearing him hold back pain was immeasurably worse. “You care about me.”

“Yes. You’re one of my closest friends.”

Stefon swallowed convulsively, a sob catching in his throat. His hands were shaking.

“Is Joel home? Or Ignacio?” Seth asked.

“You mean is someone home to make sure I don’t off myself or go on a bender?” 

“I didn’t say that. I know you’re stronger than that.”

“Am I?” Stefon turned to him. The sun had set at last, leaving the car in darkness and red light. It caught the tears lining his large eyes. “I feel like my soulmate was born in someone who doesn’t want me. That’s kinda hard to deal with.”

Seth thought to argue _I do want you_ , but he knew how that sentence ended. 

_Just not enough._

“We’re not—I’m not—” he stumbled instead, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say. There was no right thing to say.

Stefon shoved his phone in his little green backpack and fought with the dodgy button on the rental car seatbelt to free himself.

“I’m sorry,” Seth said finally, and meant it more than any words he’d ever spoken. But Stefon was already out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

____

Five days later, Seth sat in his office, staring at the digital clock reading 11:58 p.m. For the last two minutes of the year, he let himself think about Stefon with an ache in his chest that felt like an open wound.

The concussive burst of fireworks over Times Square resounded all the way to 30 Rockefeller Plaza. The muted TV showed a night sky filled with confetti, couples kissing in the cold, and all the electric billboards reading “Happy New Year!”

Seth turned off the TV, looked away from the clock, and got back to work.

He’d done the right thing, he assured himself.

He’d done the right thing.

He’d done the right thing.

He’d done the right thing.

If he repeated it, maybe his heart would begin to believe it...


	4. 2013

_He’d done the right thing._

There was a picture of Stefon taped the wall in Makeup. It was just a bland, straightforward Polaroid meant to remind them how to style him for his on-air appearances. Seth stared at it sometimes, when he thought no one would notice.

It was from Stefon’s first time on Update. Hands clasped almost coquettishly at his neck, he looked skinny, strung-out, in a daze. Seth had almost forgotten he ever looked that way. He’d gotten too used to seeing him smile. 

_He’d done the right thing._

He’d never felt more grateful to have a busy job than those first few weeks trying to keep...well, trying to keep so much of last year off his mind, so much of the excitement and joy and discovery that had made 2012 intense. Work. Work he could do. Writing and coordinating and putting out the fires that inevitably sparked on a television show, let alone a live one. If his heart felt heavy, he didn’t dwell on it. 

_He’d done the right thing._

But sometimes he let himself stare at Stefon’s picture taped to the wall in Makeup.

______

Midway through January, John paused by him after the table read and pitched an idea for “Stefon’s Picks for Mardi Gras.” It wasn’t really even a pitch. He said it in passing as he headed out the door, like he was certain Seth would say yes, because Seth always had.

“Oh, uh, let’s wait,” Seth said instead. 

John slowed to a stop and turned to him. “Wait?”

“Yeah, just...Let’s wait.” Seth organized his script pages even though they were already neat. 

“Wait for what?”

“Give it time.” Seth glanced at the others as they left the room.

“Time for what?”

“Just...maybe later.” For someone who relied on his ready wit, Seth’s mind felt empty of any believable excuses. John was Stefon’s friend, too. Seth didn’t know how much he knew or how much he wanted him to know, or if he’d already been talking to Stefon or how he could find out any of that without admitting everything.

“Ohhhkay,” John replied, face still pinched in confusion, and he followed the others out.

Seth watched him leave, certain that, if he hadn’t already been emailing Stefon, he would now. He had no idea how much Stefon would tell him... and he wondered if John would still respect him if he knew.

_He’d done the right thing._

He worked and wrote and worked some more. When Stefon’s name came up in conversation, he drowned any longing he felt in self-righteous certainty that he’d what was best _for Stefon_. He’d loved him the way he could, even if it wasn’t the way Stefon wanted. He’d ripped off the bandage, bared the wound to sunlight and air so that Stefon could start to heal. Better to let him start to get over him as soon as possible. Let him heal and find someone who could love him the way he wanted. Seth had done the caring and respectful thing; he was sure of it.

The longing always returned though, when his defenses were down. When he’d roll over in bed around 4 a.m., not awake, not fully asleep, and the memory of sensations would whisper into his mind. The way Stefon’s smile felt against his lips when his laughter followed them into a kiss. His eyes shining darkly, kindly on that beach amongst the nesting turtles. The scent of his hair the only air in Seth’s lungs as they cuddled winter-morning close on the air mattress.

He couldn’t cuddle his self-righteousness, he couldn’t kiss it or touch it or breathe it in, so in those moments, in the darkness of his bedroom, he let himself curl into a ball like a child and cry.

_He’d done the right thing._

______

He put new energy into dating and found that dating to find a wife brought different energy to every woman seated across the restaurant or diner or coffee shop table from him. Did they want the same things? Were they on the same page about children and jobs and sharing childcare? Because if not, let’s shake hands and call it a day.

It reminded Seth of auditioning for SNL. He supposed that’s what dating was, showing your best material and making a case for what you had to offer in the future. 

He didn’t believe in true love or soul mates. He believed in sincere, mindful love, of choosing each other day after day after day. A strong marriage required hard work. His wife would be his co-architect in the life they’d build together and that wasn’t a position that could be filled by just anyone.

He could never have that with Stefon. 

Stefon was young, and romantic, and lying to himself. He liked the _idea_ of settling down, but Seth knew, even if Stefon didn’t, that he’d never be able to tolerate the mundanity of marriage and children. He would miss partying too much. He would miss drugs and his friends too much. It was better for both of them that they not pretend they were a match just because they were attracted to each other.

Only 25 minutes into his first date with Melanie, he knew he’d want a second. They were, despite all the advice columns prohibiting it, discussing past failed relationships and she said she and her previous long-term boyfriend “wanted different things.” 

“I would say we broke up because he wanted me to be his mother,” she said, a slight flush in her cheeks and a self-deprecating smile. “He would say it’s because I’m a ball-busting bitch. To be fair, he’s not wrong.” She laughed lightly, turning her wine glass on the tablecloth. “And I give him points for alliteration.”

Seth smiled, immediately charmed. He learned she worked in finance, mainly accounting for big law firms and a few non-profits “to balance my soul,” and all of her career goals were right here in New York City. She wanted children and believed fathers should be heavily involved in childcare. She had a sharp sense of humor, would say “Fuck that—pardon my language” when something really irritated her, and had a smile Seth liked seeing. 

She checked all the boxes. She was everything he could want.

He didn’t miss Stefon as sharply as he had at the beginning of the year. On Valentine’s Day, Melanie got them reservations at a bar where they smashed cinder blocks with sledgehammers and drank martinis while a speaker blared the _Top Gun_ soundtrack and Seth felt pretty close to being in love.

The next time he was at the studio he flagged John into his office. “Hey, uh,” he said, as casual as he could manage, “want to write something for Stefon in March?”

“Sure. I can do that.”

“I know it’s been a little weird, sorry about that. Me and Stefon, uh, we had kind of a...falling out. In December.” He searched John’s face for any clue he might know more details. “Did he say anything...to you?”

“Basically that, that you guys had a falling out.” John shrugged.

Seth nodded, swallowing against a strange tightness in his throat. “So, you’ve been in touch with him?”

“A little.”

“Is he... He’s okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“December was—it was weird. Last time I saw him, he was...kinda upset, so I...” He shook his head. “I just worried...you know, about his...drug habits or whatever, you know, and we haven’t been...talking...like we used to.”

“Ah.” John smiled, a hint of apology in it that Seth didn’t fully understand. “No, he’s still sober, if that’s what you mean. I know that much. I mean, I know he likes you, but there’s a reason he’s rooming with the guys who went through rehab. He wants to stay clean.”

It was as though Seth’s arrogance had manifested a hand and slapped him upside the head. _Of course, you ass, it’s not all about you._ Stefon’s life didn’t revolve around him. “Right. Good.”

“So, did _you_ wanna call him about March or…”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that,” Seth said. 

Seth didn’t call. Instead, he sought out that same card at CVS. _You’re cordially invited…_ and he sent Stefon the information for a segment in March. Maybe they could get back to what they had been, writing each other weekly letters like prison pen pals. Maybe they could go back to being friends. 

He tried to tell himself he wasn’t eagerly awaiting his mail each day, sorting through for a P.O. Box and familiar handwriting. He wondered if Stefon still had any of that fancy paper, or if he’d respond with one of those touristy NYC postcards he’d sent once. But nothing arrived.

Two weeks later, Booking sent him an email to tell him Stefon had confirmed.

______

With the date on the schedule, Seth felt it looming. He’d wake up sometimes, startled from some half-remembered nightmare. He worried Stefon would make a scene, or that they’d argue, or that it would all be more emotional and public than he could handle. What actually happened was worse.

Stefon was completely professional. 

He entered the table read on time and took his usual seat beside Seth. He smiled and greeted everyone, he even shook Seth’s hand like they hadn’t shared a bed, like they hadn’t ever been anything more than placidly pleasant co-stars in an odd, infrequent little late-night sketch. 

“Hey, Stefon.” Seth matched his tone, feeling a mix of gratitude and hurt that he could seem so unaffected. “You look good—healthy,” he quickly amended, even though he meant good as in “still the only guy who really got his heart racing” _good_. His hair was freshly highlighted and his black sweater hugged his shoulders just right. Fuck, Stefon knew how to dress to see the guy who broke his heart. 

“So do you,” Stefon said gently, and they both turned their attention to the script in front of them. They did a dry run of the week’s lines and that old, persistent chemistry was there. They coaxed some laughter out of the others and even some out of each other. Stefon left right after, shaking hands and calling “see you laters”. He caught Seth’s eyes and gave him a friendly wave goodbye before striding out of the room.

Stefon had been polite and perfect and Seth wanted to throw up.

That was another part of being in the closet, he supposed. If his ex-girlfriend Allie had visited set, everyone would have understood and commiserated with what he might be feeling. But no one knew what it did to him to see Stefon. He had to swallow it, small and private and totally alone, and the pain was all the more intense because of it.

He’d made that choice, though. He’d done that to himself. 

_He’d done the right thing._

He invited Melanie to attend the taping on Saturday. She’d not been to one yet and he was excited to show her around. Her job was about a billion times more stressful, but everyone got a few stars in their eyes when they saw the cameras, lights, and dozens of hand-written cue cards. On their very first date, she’d admitted to only watching the show a few times, which had been more of a bonus for Seth than she’d probably realized. He liked being able to get to know her as himself and not as someone she’d seen on TV. Everyone liked her because there was nothing not to like. 

Stefon palled around with John the whole night. When the time came, Seth Meyers and the city correspondent performed well together. They always did. Maybe not their best that night, but not their worst either. It was fun, effortless because it always was. 

He was showing Melanie the signed posters and photos in the back hall when Stefon rounded the corner, heading for the exit. He halted in his steps, like he’d been avoiding this, then strode on forward with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey!” Seth responded to his subtlety with booming cheer and he felt manic. “Stefon, man! Great job tonight. This is Melanie. Melanie, Stefon.”

She shook his hand, mouth twitching at Stefon’s debutante fingerhold. “Nice to meet you.” Seth put his arm around her shoulder, wanting Stefon to understand, _see, it wasn’t about you._

But Stefon’s smile faltered, pain flickering through his eyes, and Seth wondered if he’d just made it worse. At the same time, something swooped through his stomach, something that felt like relief, maybe even joy. He’d seen a crack in Stefon’s otherwise perfect mask of calm; he still had feelings for him.

They chatted briefly, about the weather of all things, about the unseasonably warm days and freezing nights. Then, Stefon’s phone chimed. He eyed it and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Your Uber here?” Seth asked.

“Ah, no.” Stefon righted the collar of his long jacket. “My boyfriend sent a car for me.” That swooping something froze in Seth’s belly and dropped like lead.

“He sent a car?” Melanie laughed. “Wow, cool boyfriend.”

“Yeah, he is.” Stefon smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Melanie. Take good care of Seth for me.” He winked and Melanie giggled, but his expression sobered when he looked at Seth. “Bye,” he said softly.

“Bye, Stefon.”

Stefon turned and walked away, down the same hallway where they’d first met. It felt like a chapter ending. A story coming to a close. It felt final. Stefon didn’t look back.

“He’s a cutie,” Melanie said beside him.

Seth fought to catch his breath over the beating of his heart. “Yeah.”

Either by accident or unconscious design, Seth found himself alone with John in the narrow space behind a flimsy set wall after the next week’s taping. Exhausted, he’d slumped to the ground in his suit, which would no doubt infuriate Costuming when they saw the dust and dirt marks. Prop carts squeaked and doors slammed as the crew shut the place down for the night. John sat cross-legged, elbow on his knee and chin on his hand. 

John, who was even younger than Stefon. John, who was one of the funniest people he knew and had a relationship that was admirable and enviable. John, who had managed to understand himself and love someone the right way _years_ before Seth. And Seth still didn’t understand any of it. He felt simultaneously ancient, too old for all of this, and desperate for guidance from his juniors. He could remember sitting just like this along his row of lockers in high school, pining for some girl in his history class whose name he couldn’t remember now. How had nothing changed? How could he still not know what to do?

“He wants something with me that’s not possible, you know?” he heard himself say. The awake parts of his tired mind screamed at him to stop, but exhaustion was so much like drunkenness. “He says he wants marriage and kids, but we’re not gonna have that. Not together.”

“You guys talked about marriage and kids?”

“Yeah.”

“About having those things together? The two of you?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

John stared at him. “Um. You know friends don’t do that a lot.”

“I know.”

“So...have you considered that you just...like him?”

“Of course I like him,” Seth said. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“No, I mean...”

Seth didn’t know what showed on his face, but it made John change his sentence halfway through.

“Why don’t you think you could have those things together?” he asked instead.

“We don’t have—we’re not—” Seth waved his hands uselessly, as though he could make a shape in the air that would explain it. “We’re not the right fit for that. So we get along, so what? We want the same things, okay, the sex is great, but that’s not all you need for a marriage, is it?”

John’s eyes widened slightly and Seth realized, _ah. so, Stefon kept that secret._

“You didn’t know…about…that.”

“I did not know _sex_ happened, no. I would not have written some of those jokes if I had,” he said, hyper-annunciating in that distinctive way of his. “ _When?_ ”

“Christmas, last year. He came home with me.”

“He met your family?”

“Mmhm.”

“And it was...good with him?” Seth narrowed his eyes and John shook his head. “I do not want details,” he added quickly. “But you liked being with him, in that way?”

_In every way_ , Seth thought, but even exhaustion wouldn’t let that out. He nodded instead.

“Seth...” John sighed like a put-upon mother. “All due respect, my friend, but I think you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I know,” Seth said, even though he didn’t, not really. It was hard. If he couldn’t be certain of the next step, the next step shouldn’t be taken. Right?

“I don’t think life always works that way,” John replied, which was when Seth realized he’d been muttering out loud. “Especially the important stuff.”

With a tiny squeal of wheels, the set wall in front of them moved, dousing them in the light from the few remaining bulbs illuminating the stage. Seth blinked. The sudden stage light brought realization: He’d just come out. To John. At work.

He pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his slacks and reaching out a hand to help John up, too. “Good work tonight, man,” he said, and slapped him on the shoulder. “And yeah, thanks. It’s late. You should go on home.”

Seth left before John could say anything else. He didn’t even want to see the look in his eyes. He heard John call out, “Yeah, uh, good night,” as he walked away.

Seeing Stefon had brought back everything he thought he’d gotten past: the restless buzzing under his skin, the longing, and the nights when he curled up in bed feeling hollow. Seth stared at his picture in Makeup sometimes, when he thought no one would notice. But John noticed. Seth caught his eyes in the mirror once, just for a second, before John looked away again. After that, Seth tried not to look at the photo, but his eyes trailed back there again and again, like that was just their favorite place to be.

It was well into April before Seth realized he and Melanie hadn’t talked in weeks. They’d just...stopped talking. The moment he realized it, he pulled out his phone to text her, but then thought better of it. If a woman could slip his mind—if they could slip _each other’s_ minds—then what was he trying to do? He put his phone back in his pocket and kept working. He didn’t know if it counted as ghosting if they both did it to each other. It felt like the anti-thesis of what happened with Allie: Sometimes the people weren’t right, even when the lives were.

“Hey.” John appeared at his office door mid-April, fingers idly tapping on the door jamb. He was still in his jacket and dripping wet from the spring rainfall drenching the city outside. “I wanna write a Stefon segment for the season finale. How’s that sound?”

Seth looked up from his notes. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“Cool,” he said, and disappeared down the hallway.

______

That last night at his parent’s house, in his old bedroom. He and Stefon slept curled back to back on the air mattress. When the dawn was still dark, he’d awoken with a shiver. The vibration woke Stefon, who let out a sigh that shuddered in the cold.

“We forgot to move the pillow,” he murmured, turning over.

“Mmmhmm,” Seth hummed back. He opened his arms, repositioning the blanket as Stefon nestled against his chest.

“Should we get it?”

“Nuhhhuhh.” Seth shook his head, pressing a kiss to Stefon’s temple. “Too cold out there.”

They settled the blankets tight around themselves, tucking them under their shoulders and feet. He breathed in the scent of Stefon’s shampoo. He held him close, warmest of all, feeling his breath rise and fall, and thought, _I love you_ before he fell back into sleep. 

The moment hung there in his mind, trapped in amber like something primal and vital. 

He’d asked to be let go and Stefon had let him go. Seth grew up listening to The Police and he knew what that meant. _”If you love someone, set them free.”_

When Stefon came for the table read in May, Seth sat beside him, churning inside, wondering if anyone had ever loved him so much, wondering how he could tell Stefon he’d changed his mind. Wondering if he _had_ changed his mind. The picture of his future—those vague imaginings of a wife and children and rushing through a hospital to hold a newborn in his arms—flickered against the intensity of Stefon’s picture on the Makeup room wall, the feel of him tucked so warm against Seth’s chest as he slept. The sight of him humming along to a Christmas song, elbows deep into sudsy water and dirty dishes. 

That Saturday, before Seth took his seat behind the Update desk, he saw Stefon standing alone amid the flurry of activity backstage. He looked nervous, tugging his sleeves down over his hands, and turning his head one way and the other, anxiously eyeing all the movement around him. Seth was due on set, he needed to hurry, but he stepped to Stefon’s side anyway.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Yesyesyesyesyes.” Stefon nodded, but he didn’t sound okay at all.

“You’re gonna do great. You always do.” He gripped his shoulder, hand sliding down to Stefon’s elbow, then to the prominent bones of his wrist. His heart sped as their fingers touched. Guilt followed the thrill because _why_ couldn’t he stop this need inside him to touch Stefon, to be near him when he was around? Why couldn’t he stop taking from Stefon?

Calm steadied the hand trembling against his and darting eyes met his and held. 

Seth wanted to kiss him. It had to show all over his face, in the drop of his eyes to Stefon’s lips and their fingers still brushing.

“This will be my last time here for a while,” Stefon whispered.

“What?” Surprise—fear—jolted through Seth. “Why?”

“Things will be different. After.”

“After what? Why...? You’re just gonna... What do you mean?” 

A producer called for him, waving him urgently over and Seth knew the countdown had begun. They’d be live on air in seconds. He blinked at Stefon’s placid, dark-eyed expression until another hissed “Seth!” cut through his thoughts. He ran to the desk, fixing his suitcoat and using his every year of experience to put a familiar smile on his face.

Stefon didn’t have his years of experience in front of the camera, but he had charisma and the crowd on his side. Seth loved hearing the joy and hoots from the audience when they caught sight of him on the wings.

He was used to the cue cards differing from the table read and dress rehearsal. He was used to being caught a little off guard by the jokes, having to stifle laughter behind his hands. He had no idea what to do when Stefon abruptly left the stage in the middle of the sketch. He defaulted to his training. He tried to move on. 

But _married_. Stefon had said he was getting married. The boyfriend who sent for the car in March. He remembered. 

The audience laughed nervously. He tried to read the report on tree frogs, but something else leapt out to him: Stefon had no other cue cards. He hadn’t left in the middle of his segment— _his segment had been rewritten for him to leave_. John was in on this. 

One. Seth just needed _one person_ to say yes. _Yes, you should do this crazy thing, Seth_ , and John had just done it. If that hadn’t been enough, Amy’s lines stood out in bold marker and he could see it on her face: she knew it too. “Hey, go to him.”

_Yes, Seth, you should do this crazy thing._

So he ran. 

John intercepted him in the back hallway just long enough to say, “Marble Collegiate Church,” and hold open the door for him. 

Seth had walked this route before, but it felt further with his heart in his throat, with fear pumping his feet against the pavement. The spire in the distance glowed like a beacon, like a warning sigil. He thought of sitting beside Stefon at the desk and what they’d built together, of that first silly “Kiss me, I’m Irish” press of lips, but he also thought of him curled on his parents’ couch with a mug of hot cocoa, he thought of the letters they wrote and how—beyond everything he could have imagined—Stefon was his best friend and his favorite person in the world. How he would fight every fear, every judgement, both inside and out, to be able to keep him in his life in any way Stefon wanted him.

And as he gripped the balcony railing looking over the chaotic array of Stefon’s social circle, he felt almost feral and oh, yes, he would _definitely_ fight Anderson Cooper for him.

The run back to the studio was as giddy as the first had been fearful. Stefon had left with him; he’d chosen him. They’d chosen each other, and Stefon laughed helplessly, one hand clinging to Seth’s and the other holding the wedding veil on his head.

The cheering audience hit them with a resurgence of energy and emotion. Stefon shrieked beside him and tossed his veil into the air. “I love you, Seth Meyers!” he yelled, over the music, over the crowd.

Seth didn’t hesitate. “I love you, Stefon!” They’d done nothing legally binding, but it felt true enough when he declared them, “Seth and Stefon Meyers,” because he felt certain now. He run enough that he’d caught up with everything he’d been fearing.

Stefon was nothing he’d expected and everything he wanted.

The hug—holding Stefon tight to him in front of their friends, strangers, live national cameras—was almost better than the kiss that followed.

“I’m thinking about having a party,” he murmured, forehead touching Stefon’s, arms still wrapped around each other even as the show went on. A crewmember swept up the rice scattered at their feet while another pushed the next sketch’s set into place.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I think I just came out.”

Stefon laughed, his arms tightened around Seth’s shoulders. “I think you did too. How do you feel about that?”

Seth let his eyes linger on his mouth. “I feel good about it,” he said, and kissed him. The audience hooted and clapped while Stefon hummed happily against his lips, holding him tight.

Seth’s coming out party started around 1 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, as soon as Ben Affleck signed them off. The red lights on the camera snapped off and the beers snapped open, bottles passed from person to person. He and Stefon continued to receive handshakes and congratulations. Stefon’s friends from the church made a parade to the studio (which Seth would like to have seen) and soon it was an honest-to-god _party_. DJ Baby Bok Choi got some good beats going; Seth would never forget the sight of Amy jamming with Jewish Dracula Sidney Applebaum surrounded by a crowd of blue-skinned Germfs; and the security guards got good and anxious about all the strangers. 

Seth and Stefon danced together, slow and swaying even as the tempo pulsed like a dance club. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he wanted to ignore it—Stefon looked so blissfully happy and handsome—but he’d ignored it for the last half hour already. “Mom” lit up the screen, but not before he saw eight voicemails and seven text messages all from different people queued up, including one from his brother that just said, “Ummm…what?”

“Hello?” he answered.

“Seth?” his mom said loudly.

The music blared, but he could hear her, and he didn’t want to move away from Stefon. Not now, when he finally had him back again. He kept an arm wrapped around his waist, hand pressed to the small of his back. “Hey, Mom! Did you enjoy the show?”

“We did, honey. Your dad and I...we were wondering...”

“Yeah, Mom?” He couldn’t help grinning. Maybe everything was about to change with his family; that couldn’t matter anymore. That was a good part of having a job on live television, he supposed, you got good at rolling with what couldn’t be taken back.

“How much of that was real?”

“All of it.” He smiled at Stefon. “All of it was real, Mom.”

“All of it?”

“Yeah. I’ll call tomorrow and explain everything, okay? I promise. Love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, honey.”

He left all the other calls and messages for another day. They knew everything they needed to know right now and all their questions would be answered in time. 

Stefon’s phone had been less noisy as all his friends were present and knew exactly what had happened. So when it rang once, he slipped it from the pocket of his skinny jeans. “It’s Anderson,” he said. “I should—”

“Yeah, of course. Go.” Seth let him go and stepped back just a bit. “Use my office, if you need somewhere quiet.”

Stefon moved a few feet through the dancers before putting the phone to his ear. He disappeared down the hallway toward Seth’s office. A bit of fear returned to his belly. His own distaste for Cooper aside, Seth knew he wasn’t a bad guy. If he’d loved Stefon even a little, he had to have a good side. And adrenaline was a hell of a drug. Maybe, with that adrenaline fading, with Anderson’s voice in his ear, Stefon would think better of choosing him. Maybe he’d want to be with a braver man, a man who didn’t have to be pulled out of the closet by the fear of losing the love of his life forever.

Seth grabbed another beer and drifted toward the edge of the party. He needed to trust the way he’d been trusted, he told himself. He needed to return the patience he’d been given. So he took a long, deep breath and then a long, deep drink, and found John leaning against the wall, laughing with Joel and Ignacio. John greeted him with a raised beer while Joel and Ignacio lifted their cans of soda.

“Having a good night?” John asked smugly.

“I am. Thank you.” Then he smiled more softly, more sincerely. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_. This could have gone very badly for me. Either you’d be happy or I’d be fired.”

“You took a risk.”

“I did.”

Seth turned to him, shoulder against the wall. The stage floor continued to thrum with dancing and laughter. “Why’d you do it?” he asked.

“I’m a romantic?”

“Seriously, John. This is...It’s a big thing you did for me. For us, I guess. I need to get used to saying that.”

John let out a sigh, lips pursing in a small smile. “We had that talk backstage that one night and then Stefon mentioned the wedding in an email, but he was still asking about you all the time... 

“He pined for you,” Joel agreed, his German accent thick and sturdy.

“It was very annoying,” Ignacio added.

Seth looked down at his dress shoes, kicking at a stray bottle cap on the black stage floor. “He’s in my office right now. Talking to Cooper. So who knows?”

“Oh, we know,” Joel said, as John and Ignacio snickered and nodded with him. “He will not pick him.”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “He’s crazy about you, Seth.” 

“It is very annoying,” Ignacio added.

Seth laughed and felt warm. Then, he glanced up just as Stefon emerged from the hallway, eyes searching the crowd for him. He felt himself light up, so he wasn’t surprised when John, Joel and Ignacio started laughing at him. “Excuse me, guys,” he said, and walked away. It was a special thing, getting to see Stefon light up upon seeing him, too. He remembered how that used to scare him. Now, it felt like such a precious gift.

“Hey.” He and Stefon melted back together, his arms sliding easily around his waist and Stefon’s around his shoulders. “Everything okay?”

“It’s okay. He’s not happy, but it’s okay. He’s a good person.”

Seth kissed him because he didn’t want to talk about Cooper anymore. Or ever, really. This time the music thumped at their speed, slow and steady like a heartbeat. Security had begun to clear out some of the rowdier club kids, who were happy enough to relocate to Spicy or Booooooooof or whatever hissing noise was the hottest scene tonight. A couple invited Seth and Stefon as they left, but they elected to stay amidst the fading festivities of the usual SNL end-of-season breakdown.

“After I left last time,” Stefon told him, arms draped seemingly permanently around his shoulders, “I cried the whole ride home. Your girlfriend was so pretty.”

“I thought it might help to see her.”

“It didn’t.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t have done this if John hadn’t told me to. He said I should give you one more chance before I...took myself off the market. Officially.” Stefon smiled a little lopsided. He shrugged uncertainly. “I didn’t know if I should do it, but the way you looked before you went out—”

“I’m in love with you, Stefon.”

Stefon stood in his arms, startled silent, mouth agape.

“Sorry I interrupted you. I just wanted to make sure that was clear,” Seth said. “You’re the future I see for myself. I want to marry you and raise a family with you. Just to be clear.”

It was all worth it right then to see the unrestrained joy that bloomed across Stefon’s face. His smile was boyish and broad. He pulled himself even closer, hand to the back of Seth’s head as they embraced. The hugs were even better than the kisses; Seth should have realized he was in love a long time ago. 

“You want to go somewhere private to talk?” The way his fingers stroked the back of his neck didn’t put Seth in the mind for talking, but he said yes. Being alone with Stefon sounded amazing right now.

He’d been in his office only hours ago, but he felt like a different person walking in. Everything had changed. He closed the door behind them and turned to see Stefon idly browsing the papers on the desk. “We do have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he asked, walking over. “We should talk, shouldn’t we?”

Stefon stared at his lips and nodded as he eased back to sit on the desk. “Yessss. We need to talk.” He pulled Seth between his knees by his necktie. “Tomorrow.”

Seth sighed, savoring it as Stefon caught his jaw with strong fingers and tilted his head for a kiss, tongue lapping wetly against his top lip. This is how he’d been wanting to kiss him all night. “Mm, I missed you,” he whispered when they parted for a breath. Hot hands had found their way under his untucked shirt to press against his skin. 

“I missed you, too.”

He gripped Stefon’s thighs, kneading the firm muscle under his palms as they wrapped around his waist. He rocked against him. He knew he shouldn’t let himself get so keyed up at work, but it’d been _months_ since they’d touched. He couldn’t make himself back away. Stefon gave a soft whimper against his lips that went straight his groin and he couldn’t have talked coherently if they’d decided to. How had he ever thought he could go the rest of his life without this? How could he have let this person go?

He gently eased Stefon back to rest his elbows on the desk, pushing his shirt out of the way to get at the button of his black jeans. He buried his face in the hot, heaving skin of Stefon’s stomach, kissing his naval as he eased the zipper down, listening to the panting breaths above him and heeding the fingers raking through his hair. It was apology, adoration, supplication. It was also, objectively speaking, probably a pretty mediocre blowjob, but he was looking forward to practicing more.

After, he realized they hadn’t locked the door and could have been interrupted by anyone. They’d gotten lucky. Their clothes were worse for wear, though; he would clean them himself before they got returned Costuming. They tidied themselves as best they could and raided Seth’s stash of gum.

When they emerged, it was to an uncomfortably quiet, empty studio. 

And then sudden applause erupted as the remaining cast and crew emerged from hiding spots, all eyes on the two of them. As his friends and coworkers hooted and whistled, Seth fixed his tie as though they didn’t all know exactly what he and Stefon had been up to. Stefon smirked tensely beside him, probably waiting to see if he’d panic and try to dive back into the closet. 

So, Seth grabbed his hand and took a bow.

______

As satisfying as it had been to physically wrest a prize from Anderson Cooper’s hands, it was sobering to extract Stefon’s life from his over the next few days. They’d been living together, albeit for barely a month. It rattled Seth.

He waited outside in the car while Stefon ascended some luxury building with a doorman and probably a designated elevator operator to get the belongings he’d moved into Cooper’s place. Seth dug down to autopsy the emotion in his gut before he admitted it was just plain old jealousy. He’d woken up that morning to Stefon’s gentle sighs as he stretched under the covers and he selfishly never wanted another man to have those moments. He’d been stupid, so someone else had gotten to. Someone else had gotten to have him in his bed and in his home. 

The thump of a box on the car’s roof snapped him from his thoughts and he climbed out to help Stefon with the trunk. A suitcase, two cardboard boxes, and a floor lamp shaped like a giant banana. That was the extent of Stefon’s existence in Cooper’s home. He seemed tense and a bit shaky, so Seth figured Cooper had been there and it hadn’t been pleasant.

“You okay?” he asked as Stefon slid into the passenger seat.

“Mmhmm.” Stefon adjusted the angle of the big banana in the backseat before turning to fasten his seatbelt.

Seth touched the steering wheel, but didn’t drive. “Did you love him?”

“I care about him,” he said. The lack of eye contact felt deliberate, and so did the present tense.

“You were really going to marry him.”

Stefon’s nod was small but certain. “I liked the life we could have made together. Could we go, please?”

“But you didn’t—you weren’t in love with him?”

“I’m in love with _you_ ,” Stefon snapped, and at that he did meet his eyes, met them like a hit, that bold blue edged with tears that weren’t for him. “And you did that thing where told me you wanted to marry a woman, so I was just…trying to live a life I could be happy with, okay?”

Seth kissed him because words wouldn’t do the work alone; healing would take time and he’d just have to keep showing up, keep confirming that he had no doubts anymore, keep walking forward with his eyes open and Stefon’s hand in his. “I was wrong and I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Never letting you go now.”

Stefon smiled against his lips, pressing a kiss in return. He let out a calming sigh. “Good, because I promise you, Seth Meyers, Stefon will be a _nightmare_ to divorce.”

Seth snorted a laugh as he eased them out into traffic. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Of course it could all end terribly. He knew that it could, but for some reason, he didn’t believe it would. Some resonating certainty told him he and Stefon could make it through anything, as long as they stayed true to themselves and each other.

______

They had a real wedding later that summer at a location they chose together, with music and a ceremony and a guest list they chose together. The only real fight they had was over who got to have John as best man (Seth won).

Planning their wedding brought the first one into focus, for both of them. The midnight ceremony had been Stefon’s idea, the church had not. He’d chosen his own guest list, but not his own vows. He’d invited his brother, but hadn’t even told his mother. 

“I really should have known,” Stefon said, tugging on the lapels of the neon suit jacket and buttoning it over equally bright slacks. “Getting married in my Update clothes. It was a little dramatic.”

“You? Dramatic?” Seth crossed his arms, enjoying the view in the shop’s full-length mirror, which allowed him to see both the fit across Stefon’s shoulders and the aggressive roll of his eyes. 

They kept it small, mostly because they didn’t want to wait to make it bigger; every venue, vendor, and DJ in Manhattan was booked for two years straight. Stefon’s friends, however, made themselves very available. DJ Baby Bok Choi offered to run music and emcee. Black George Washington, it turned out, was ordained through the Church of the Latter Day Dude and an impressive poet. Sidney Applebaum, who excelled at origami, volunteered to make a bouquet of paper flowers, and Snoozin Lucci was a surprisingly good photographer. Granted, most of their portfolio showcased bizarre nudes of people with yarn and clown wigs, but the lighting was good. 

They chose the studio for their venue. It felt right to have the Update desk for the backdrop to their vows. Plus, Seth wanted to provide _something_. 

And this time, Stefon invited his mom. 

He seemed nervous as he led her over in her platform shoes and surprisingly modest latex dress. She reminded Seth of Lady Gaga meeting the queen. He suspected the flowing red locks were a wig, albeit a good one. The curls bounced as she trotted near and, “Seth! Ah, you cute thing!”, grabbed him into a tight hug. With the platforms, she towered over him, putting his face nearly in her latex-covered breasts. 

She was barely twenty years older than her sons, and looked both too young and too old to have children in their 30s. The drugs and drinking had aged her, cracking fine lines and early wrinkles into a face that somehow still looked babyish despite too-hollow cheeks. She had Stefon’s large eyes—or rather, Stefon had hers, he supposed. Doe-like, with a cute smile that made her seem young. For as long as she’d been partying, she could have been the Grand Dame of the club scene. Instead, she still had the air of a little sister tagging along. 

It was the missing piece in understanding Stefon. Seth got now why he forgave her so often, why he loved her so wholly despite some of her painful choices. If Stefon was a weird baby lamb, his mother was a wounded one. She’d not figured out how to heal herself the way her son had. 

As Ms. Stefon, which she did call herself, vented about the incapability of platform shoes and subway escalators, Seth put his arm around Stefon’s waist and pulled him close. He couldn’t wait to start a family with this man. 

A half hour before the ceremony was to begin, Stefon disappeared to put on his suit and gather his bouquet from Sidney. Seth handled the meet and greets. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he felt ready for the confrontation when his parents arrived, dressed for Sunday church and looking every bit as prayerful.

“Hey, honey,” his mom greeted. She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. His dad just shook his hand. And then they stood there in an awkward silence Seth had never experienced with family before.

“Thank you for being here,” he said finally, just to break the tension.

His dad nodded, but couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “I don’t really understand this.”

“You don’t need to,” Seth replied.

“I think it’s just a little confusing for us. It’s very fast.” His mother laid a hand on his father’s arm. “And you’ve dated so many lovely women.”

“I know. I like both.”

“Both?”

“Women and men. I’m bisexual.” He swallowed, startled by his own words. It felt so real to say it out loud. To his parents. 

They both blinked at him in confusion. Seth would have laughed if it didn’t ache so much at the same time. Where he’d grown so used to loving enthusiasm he saw only uncertainty and concern.

“You like both?” his dad asked.

“Yes, I like both.” Seth nodded. “But I love Stefon.” He wanted to keep talking to fill the silence, but stopped himself. He had nothing more to explain.

After a moment, his mother smiled at him. “To be honest, I guess I’m not as surprised as I’d thought I’d be.”

“Really?”

“You seemed so close at Christmas. I could tell he was special to you.”

Seth smiled. “He is.”

“Well, if you’re happy, we’re happy.” She let out a sigh and looked to her husband, who still hadn’t looked at Seth. He stared at the floor like it had something to teach him. “C’mon, honey. Let’s go take our seats.” She gave Seth another kiss and they strolled tensely away. 

Which was when Seth noticed his brother right on their heels. “Hey,” Josh said, pulling him into a distracted, perfunctory hug.

“Hey, man.”

“Were you doing stuff at Christmas?”

“What?”

“You and Stefon.” Josh shrugged, eyes locked on his. “You know…”

“Oh. Yeah,” Seth said. 

“I thought so.”

“You did?”

“No. Well, sort of. You were weird with him, but I didn’t know you were hooking up.”

“Ah.” Seth let out a breath as they just stared at each other. “Well. We were.”

“Okay. So, uh. Congratulations.” He slapped Seth’s shoulder and wandered away to join his parents in the audience seating.

“Thanks...”

Seth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gripped the waist of his jacket, pulling it tight to steady himself, fixing buttons that were already fixed. Strange, frustrated tears burned behind his eyes. He felt so happy and so _hurt_.

Just then, DJ Baby Bok Choi (whose real name, Seth had learned, was Li Wei) tapped his arm to confirm the playlist for the ceremony. Seth read through their chosen songs and let himself smile, let some of the happy overwhelm the hurt. “It’s perfect,” he said.

Each time one of Stefon’s friends stopped to talk to him, or even just to update him on their part of the event (Sidney’s paper-flower bouquet for Stefon was a work of art), Seth got a boost of encouragement he dearly needed. They’d grip his shoulder or kiss his cheek or tell him, with depth and sincerity, how happy they were for him. Seth started to wonder if they weren’t just talking about the wedding, but about him, too, about his own journey, about coming out, about finding the courage and safety to embrace all that was in him to be. As the Germfs surrounded him for a group hug, he understood now why there’d been such chaos at the church. They’d all been where he was, in one way or another. They were all _rooting for him._

He tightened his tie and felt warmth blooming in his chest. He didn’t know when his life became something that involved people in drag, blue makeup, and plastic clothes, but he knew love and support when he felt it.

His own friends, on the other hand, were a different story. Between the club-kid check-ins, more than one sidled up to him with careful little smiles on their faces, like they were visiting a dying man in a hospital. “How’re you doin’, man?” they asked. “I’m worried about you.” “Are you sure about this?” “This can’t be the person you really want.” “It’s easy to get a divorce, but it’s not _easy_ easy.” They thought he’d lost his mind, not because he was marrying a man, but because he was marrying _Stefon Zolesky_ of all men. Strange, uncanny, party monster Stefon. 

For the first two or three interactions, Seth felt upset and angry. By the sixth person, he started to think, _Bring it on_. He’d let this be his final gauntlet. He wanted to marry Stefon with the same sort of certainty he’d felt when he wanted to audition for SNL, or when he’d been a child watching late night TV past his bedtime and _knowing_ in some intangible way deep inside him that _that life_ was for him. People spent a lot of years doubting him about that, too.

Okay, so, they thought he’d gone mad. Maybe he had. From the outside, freedom probably looked a lot like madness.

Seth walked down the aisle after John, taking in the beaming grins of Stefon’s friends and the troubled looks from his own—the confused pity clouding his mother’s usually radiant smile. As he stood at the front beside Black George Washington (who had legally changed his name to such), he heard chatter and whispering flitter through the small crowd like a breeze. 

“Everyone his age has at least one divorce,” his mom said lowly to his dad and his brother in the front row. “He’ll figure himself out.”

John gripped Seth’s elbow with one hand, steadying him, supporting him. Black George Washington glanced at him because he’d heard it too. He gave Seth a little shake of his head, a small “don’t listen to them,” and gestured to the guests to stand because there, at the end of the rows, stood the man who would be his husband. 

Seth focused on him and nothing else.

Stefon didn’t wear a veil this time, but he entered like a perfect bride just the same—a bride in a neon green suit with literal splashes of color (paint, courtesy his friends at his bachelor party) all over it and an exquisite bouquet of paper roses as colorful as his clothes. His cousin Emily grinned with freshly un-braced teeth as she sprinkled flower petals on the floor, Li Wei played a romantic melody of humming telephone wires with a piano underscore, and Snoozin Lucci (who insisted upon their full name at all times) circled and snapped with their camera, getting all the best angles.

As they held hands and exchanged rings, Seth thought of the letters they’d written to one another, to the quiet moments they’d shared. Most of all, he thought about how ironic it was that everyone who was so worried about his happiness didn’t realize that that’s all Stefon worried about, too. 

Last night, they’d laid in bed together, talking through the remaining tasks to be done, and when they finally settled face to face, arms around each other, Stefon gave him one more chance to back out of everything. He’d had tears in his eyes because he’d been ready right then, if Seth had said he wanted it, to let him go all over again. “I don’t want you to have regrets,” he said, stroking a hand through Seth’s hair.

Seth had closed his arms around his waist, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and felt no fear. “I would regret letting you go again,” he whispered.

“I take you with all your faults and strengths as I offer myself to you with all my faults and all my strengths,” Seth said, feeling Stefon’s ring against his fingertips. “Before these witnesses, I choose you as the person with whom I’ll spend my life.” He meant it more than any words he’d ever spoken.

But he had more words to say, because he’d figured something out. 

The reception started about 15 minutes after the ceremony. They wheeled out a few round tables with tablecloths and place settings, and catering brought in the buffet. Bartenders worked an open bar, courtesy Stefon’s brother David who couldn’t attend, but wanted to assure there’d be a party in his absence.

Seth stood when Li Wei faded out the music and Ignacio brought him a microphone for the traditional groom’s speech. Dishes and silverware clinked as their guests dined, conversations continuing softly. Stefon tapped his water glass with a knife to get their attention. “Quiet!” he shouted happily. “My man is going to talk!”

“Thank you, Stefon,” Seth said. He looked out at the tables and their scant decorations, at his friends and family interspersed with Stefon’s and could only imagine some of the interesting social interactions taking place. “First, I want to thank all of you for being here to celebrate with us, especially on short notice, and especially those of you who traveled long distances on short notice. Stefon and I are very happy to have you here.”

Seated beside him, Stefon nodded enthusiastically, lips pursing. He cast a wink Emily’s way. 

“I have to say, I had a whole speech planned out. I was going tell you how _this guy has everything_ ,” he said, dropping into an impression of Stefon. He counted off on his fingers. “He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s kind, he has a tattoo...of a cat...getting a tattoo…of a cat...”

A few people snickered while Stefon just answered questioning looks with smirking nod. 

“Don’t ask him where because he’ll show you,” Seth added, and Stefon nodded again.

Seth turned the mic in his hand. He looked down at the crumpled cloth of his napkin and pushed at his unused dessert fork. “I was going to say all that, but I have something else I want to say now since about fifteen of you tried to stage an intervention tonight. I’ll remember the things you said about my husband, by the way. Thanks for that.” He was only half-joking. He let out a breath to keep the anger out of his voice. That’s not what this was about.

“I know all of that comes from love, I do. I know, from the outside, this—” he gestured between himself and Stefon—“may not make much sense. So let me tell you about what it’s like from the inside… For the last three years, I’ve been Stefon’s straight man.”

Hoots and laughter, even a few boos, rose from the guests, specifically from those dressed in latex or plastic. 

“Yeah, I know,” Seth agreed, chuckling. “In every sense of the word, right? If you don’t know: in a comedy duo, ‘the straight man’ is calm and serious and steady while the other one is erratic and unpredictable and all over the place. I know you look at us and you think you know which is which.”

He glanced down at Stefon, who sat gazing— _gazing_ —up at him, and he couldn’t hold those eyes for long. So he looked back to their guests, their audience, their gathered family and friends and the people who loved them most.

“These last few years I have been…struggling. To know who I am, to know what I want in my personal life. And through all of that, Stefon has been calm and serious and steady. He’s been consistent _every day_ in how he feels about me and he’s never wavered, even when I changed my mind about everything from second to second and couldn’t decide what I wanted and hurt him in the process. He patiently—and with so much love—let me be an absolute mess. He was my ‘straight man.’

“So to those of you who think I’m being crazy, I’m not anymore. If you’re worried I’ll regret this, I won’t. If you think I’m making a mistake, I’m not, and I hope that you all find someone who makes you feel as loved as I feel right now.” He put a hand on Stefon’s shoulder, felt Stefon’s hand close over it, but didn’t trust himself to look at him just yet. He felt too close to crying as it was. “And I will happily spend the rest of my life trying to give that same love back to him.

“Anything you want to add, Stefon?”

Stefon smiled up at him, eyes shining. “No,” he whispered. 

They cut the cake and carefully fed each other slices. Stefon licked the frosting from Seth’s lips, then kissed him, closed-mouth and sweet. Color still burned high on his cheeks while Seth’s own felt sore from smiling. He welcomed the parade of apologies from his friends.

Dinner over, they wheeled the tables off to the sides to make room for dancing and Li Wei pumped the tempo. As Stefon’s friends poured onto the dancefloor like a wave, Seth’s parents crossed to him. His mother immediately closed her arms around him. “I love you and I’m so proud of you,” she said in his ear, kissing his cheek. “I’m sorry for ever making you feel anything else.” His brother and his dad gave him tight hugs too. He accepted those for the apologies they were. 

His dad even patted his cheek, a little misty-eyed himself. He jerked his chin toward where Stefon danced with his mother to "Livin’ On a Prayer". “Wouldn’t want you with anyone that loved you less.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

They settled side by side at the edge of the dancefloor, beer bottles in hand, watching as Stefon waved Seth’s mom over so he and Ms. Stefon could teach her their moves. It was a sight to see, his mom in her church dress and Stefon’s in her shiny latex both doing the mashed potato dance. 

His dad shrugged a little, bobbed his elbow. “That’s how I feel. About your mom.”

Seth turned to him. “Yeah?”

His dad took a swig of beer and nodded. “Still trying to give her all that love back.” There was a softness in his eyes Seth wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. A whole new side to his father.

“I think you do all right.” Seth smiled and everything felt all right. _Changed_ , but all right. 

He loved the feel of the ring on his finger, clinking and cool against the condensation on the bottle. He loved seeing the plain silver band flashing on Stefon’s finger as he danced with arms wild. He looked across the room at him and he loved him. 

On the stage-turned-dancefloor, they invited the whole crowd to join them for their first dance as husbands. Surrounded by their family and friends, they spun and jumped, hands linked, singing at the top of their lungs. _“I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart!”_

As the song came to an end, Seth pulled Stefon close to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his smile. Their hands slid together, a perfect fit.

“Hello, Seth Meyers,” Stefon said.

“Hello to you, Stefon Meyers.” 

Stefon grinned, joy bubbling out of him as laughter. “I like how that sounds,” he said.

Seth laughed with him. “Me too.” 

_He’d done the right thing._


	5. 2020 (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts with some angst, but I promise so. much. fluff.

The broken wheel of his suitcase shuddered across the icy patches still dotting the concrete. Seth scowled and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, though it didn’t do much against the chill. His car waited, covered in frost, under a streetlight a few yards ahead with his winter coat on the passenger seat. It hadn’t seemed worth it to bundle with him on the trip to Los Angeles and he was paying for it now. 

His phone buzzed and he ignored it. It was going to be Stefon and they were going to fight again. He didn’t want to bother with it. He’d texted that he’d landed; that’s all Stefon needed to know right now.

He jabbed the scraper through the ice coating his windshield and argued with him in his head anyway. _You’re being stubborn and overreacting. It’s not as though I did this on purpose._

He was on the highway before his phone rang again, but it wasn’t Stefon. His dashboard screen displayed “EMILY” in blue.

“Hey, Emmy,” Seth answered.

“Hey, quick question. Can I come stay with you for spring break? I’ll be a free babysitter.”

“Uh-oh. What happened?” 

She let out a frustrated groan and Seth heard the recognizable creak and echo of a public restroom. “I _cannot_ with my dad right now, Seth. Are you driving?”

“Yeah. Heading home from the airport. Are you in the restroom?”

“I have to pee, chill. I’ll put myself on mute. Where’re you coming back from?” True to her word, her side of the conversation went unnaturally quiet.

Seth just shook his head and tried not to imagine his cousin on the toilet. “I was taking some meetings out in L.A., looking into maybe producing some things. Maybe. I don’t like being on speaker phone in restrooms, so when you’re done peeing tell me why you can’t call me _after_ you’ve gone to the bathroom.”

Sound returned with a flush. ‘”Cause I’m going into class in a second. And it’s wasted time, dude. I’m just sitting there. L.A. sounds nice. How long were you out there?”

“Eh.” Seth glanced in the sideview mirror, shifting into the left-hand lane to pass a semi. “It was supposed to be three days, ended up being a week.”

“Yikes. Stefon probably loved that. Were the kids going bananas?”

Seth frowned. “So what’s going on with Uncle Chuck?”

“Oh, my god, like, I love him ‘cause he’s my dad and he has his moments, but it’s like the more, like, burn-it-down feminist and radical I get, the more conservative and sexist he gets.”

“Maybe it just seems that way because you’re changing. Your dad’s always been…um, let’s say ‘traditional’.”

“Whatever, we’re like those magnets that repel each other now. He doesn’t want to hear about my classes or my research or anything, he just sits there looking bored, but if I mention any guy, like even just in passing, he’s all questions and curious. Like, ‘hey, is this guy marriage material’ and it’s just—it makes me want to scream. I hate it.”

“I’m sorry, Em. That sucks.”

“I can’t stay with them for a week or I’ll go full Hamlet. Shit. Hamlet killed his uncle not his dad, didn’t he? See, Seth? Even thinking about spending time with my dad kills my brain. If I have to stay there for a week I’ll lose my whole college career right before I graduate.”

“And you know staying with us will piss him off more. Is that part of the appeal?”

“Honestly, no,” she said, sighing. “I’m not trying to piss him off, I just want him to see me as, like, a person. And anyway, B-T-dubs, I totally don’t think he gets that if it weren’t for you and Stefon, I would have taken marriage off my agenda completely, like, forever ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you kidding?” Emily snorted. “I’m not super interested in being in a relationship where I’m, like, a glorified administrative assistant. You and Stefon actually have a partnership. You like being around each other. I hate how insanely rare that is, but it is.”

Some of the anger that had been boiling under his skin started to cool. He wanted to argue—every conversation he’d had with Stefon this week had devolved into a fight—but he couldn’t. He _did_ like being around Stefon. Stefon was still his favorite person, even when he was so mad at him he could scream.

“Literally no other couple I know makes marriage seem remotely pleasant except you guys.” 

Seth stared out the windshield at the flurrying snow and the fluorescing red of taillights. “Thanks, I guess. I hope there are more good marriages out there than you think, though.”

“Ugh. I just want to not care, you know? Hey, my class is starting. I’ll text you the spring break dates and you’ll let me know, okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll check with Stefon and let you know.”

“Cool. I love you! Tell Stefon I love him too! And give the kids millions of smooches from me.”

“I will,” Seth said. The call ended and his music took back over the speakers. 

The house was lit up like a baseball field when he pulled up. Seth shook his head; they argued about that all the time and yet Stefon never remembered to turn the lights off after he left a room. Glancing up, he saw that the kids’ rooms at least were dark.

He switched off the kitchen light as he came in, carrying his broken suitcase with him. Bark Ruffalo trotted to him, backside wiggling happily with his tail. “Hey, buddy,” Seth whispered, scratching behind his ears. “I missed you, too. You need to go out?” Bark Ruffalo’s response was to scurry out the open door into the backyard. 

The lamps still glowed in the living room. Doc McStuffins drifted from the TV, still streaming without an audience. Seth walked in with a tired sigh to see Stefon, his party monster, asleep on the couch at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday. He was dressed in a dark Henley (a birthday gift from Seth) and Christmas-chicken sweatpants. Sparkles shined on his skin, but this was from gloss their daughter painted on his cheeks rather than a drag queen’s glitter-bomb. Eartha Kitty slept curled in the crook of his knees.

He thought about what Emily had said. Shame trickled through him, reluctant but persistent. He’d not been a very good partner this week, and worse than that, he’d not been someone Stefon could have enjoyed very much in the few times they got to talk. Seth had gotten caught up in his meetings and feeling important. It was still a heady thing to be recognized in L.A. and it felt good. 

But not as good as the first time he and Stefon had held their daughter Sage, just the three of them alone, a family. Her soft brown cheeks round with a baby’s toothless smile and those deep, dark eyes of hers that still did a number on him six years later (and always would). Not as good as he’d felt when he found Stefon up at 3 a.m. researching natural hair and emailing Black George Washington’s wife Fatima for guidance, so they could be sure to help Sage feel proud and beautiful. Not as good as the morning 2-year-old Sage had hopped into bed with them and all three of them had cooed over her new brother’s tiny brown fingers and toes. 

As parents, they argued, they disagreed, but they always took care to be a united front to their kids. And Stefon had proven to be an incredible and patient parent, if unconventional (not all fathers designated a room just for writing, painting, and drawing all over the walls, or encouraged pots-and-pans musical bands). They argued, they disagreed, but they _talked_ and they navigated their own wounds to try to give their children the consistency and freedom they’d either wanted or enjoyed when they were young. It was even more than Seth had dreamed of having with someone. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself take it for granted.

A lamp shone down on his husband, who’d buried his face in the pillows rather than turning it off. Seth let the irritation turn to familiar fondness. He shut off the light with a click.

Stefon sighed and shifted. His eyes opened and Seth watched the heat start to stoke in them, ready to continue the fight his flight had interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” Seth blurted. “I was an ass. I let my stress and my ambitions talk for me too much this week.”

Stefon softened instantly. “I’m sorry, too. I was being stubborn and overreacting.”

Seth lowered to his knees beside the couch. “Stubborn, maybe, but you weren’t overreacting.” He kissed him. Fingers stroked through his hair. His wedding ring was the only one Stefon still wore with any regularity. “I shouldn’t have asked you to move your deadline. Did you get any writing done at all this week?”

Stefon shrugged as best he could against the cushions, head shaking no. “Not really. There was that thing with the lice at Sage’s school, and then Sawyer had that rash again. Dr. Panchal just said to use that same cream, so it wasn’t a big deal, but...”

“It didn’t leave much time for working on your book.”

“That’s accurate.” He nodded, rubbing his eyes. Then, he smiled at Seth. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“I’m glad I’m home, too.”

“Want to tell me all about it?”

“Later. Tomorrow.”

Stefon at 42 was a beautiful thing, if perhaps less ethereal in that beauty than he had been when they’d met. The skinny, sleep-starved fragility that turned his angles into art had softened to show laugh lines and full cheeks. Darkness—either eyeliner or sleeplessness—didn’t circle his eyes like it used to and he’d seen the sun for enough hours to develop a few freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was happy, sober, well-rested, well-fed. Seth thought he’d never been more gorgeous, so he kissed him.

He'd not been trying to start anything, but Stefon’s hand slid into his hair, sending shivers down his back, and their kissing had only improved with seven years of practice. Plus, as working parents, it’d been far too long since they’d fooled around. Disrupted, Eartha Kitty stretched and hopped off the couch. Seth took that for the opportunity it was and deepened the kiss as he climbed up to slide into the familiar space between Stefon’s thighs. 

“Are the kids asleep?” he asked, hoping—for as much as he missed his kids—that the reunion could wait until morning so he could show Stefon how much he’d missed him.

“Yes, because I’m awesome.” He pushed Seth’s jacket off his shoulders and followed his hands down to grab his ass. Just then, there were two loud thumps and giggles from upstairs. “Or they’re having a jumping contest. That’s a new thing they started this week. Actually, I might have started it...”

“You’re still awesome.” He tugged Stefon’s knee around his waist, rolling his hips downward just to hear his husband moan. 

“You’re not bad either,” Stefon murmured, meeting Seth’s tongue with his own.

But the noise from upstairs continued, soon joined by Bark Ruffalo scratching and whining at the kitchen door, and therein was the very reason it’d been weeks since they’d properly had sex. Their kiss broke on their rueful laughter and Stefon gave a disappointed little whimper. Seth nuzzled his nose against his.

“If they don’t get to sleep soon, they’ll be monsters tomorrow, and not the fun kind,” Stefon said.

“I know.” Seth sighed, resting his forehead against Stefon’s. “I’ll go. You feed Bark Ruffalo and then get into a hot bath. If our kids behave, I’ll come scrub your back.” He climbed off the couch, wobbling only a bit as his blood slowly redistributed itself in his body, and reached out a hand to pull Stefon to his feet. “If they don’t behave, you still get a hot bath.”

“Mm. Win-win.” Stefon popped a kiss to his cheek and turned for the kitchen. 

Seth trotted up the stairs. At the sounds of approaching footsteps, Sage and Sawyer scampered back into the respective beds. Sage had her own room, but when it wasn’t a school night, Seth and Stefon sometimes let them share, as a treat. The kids took great delight in something so simple, often spending over an hour building a blanket cave on the floor, complete with flashlights and all the books they’d read in the dark as soon as the sun went down.

He opened the door to a still and quiet room, the butterfly nightlight shined blue from the corner. They pretended to be asleep, as unconvincing as that was, and a second later, he heard a happy shriek of “Dad!” as Sage leapt from the blanket cave. He welcomed her tackling hug, dropping to one knee to accept Sawyer running close to cling to him, too. He breathed them in, bubblegum toothpaste and coconut oil. His perfect babies.

He couldn’t believe he’d let himself take any of this for granted.

Excited to see him, they both launched into the tales of their week with Daddy, a joyfully non-linear narrative that featured the turtle at Sawyer’s pre-school, Sage winning a math contest, and possibly a trip for ice cream at some point. Seth found it hard to discern what happened and when as their cheery little voices tripped over each other and their stories jumped around in time. He heard what he needed to, though: They were safe, happy, and very, very sleepy. The latter they would deny, but he saw the heavy eyelids, the tiny brown fists rubbing at their eyes and fighting off sleep because the waking world was just too thrilling.

He instructed them to each pick a book he would read to them before bed. A bonus bedtime story was a heck of a bribe and they both eagerly bundled into the blanket cave with their choices. The stillness let sleep take over and after “Emi’s Curly, Coily, Cotton Candy Hair,” Seth was only halfway through “And Tango Makes Three” when he heard the first snoring breaths. They didn’t even notice when he extracted himself and stood up from the floor, a bit laboriously now at nearly 50, on creaking knees. 

Candles lit the master bathroom when he walked in, making the air pleasantly warm and humid. A cold wind whistled outside, but louder was the soft percussion of the faucet dripping water into the full tub.

“That didn’t take too long,” Stefon said, legs extended over the edge of the tub so he could be submerged to his shoulders. Someday Seth wanted to move them into a place where he could get him a really decadent tub long enough for his whole body.

“They were tired.”

“I know the feeling.” Stefon blinked heavily. Water brought out the curls in his hair.

Seth caught his own reflection in the mirror. Still in his shirt and tie, though his jacket laid discarded by the couch downstairs, while behind him Stefon rested naked in the tub behind him. _Our default states_ , he thought, unbidden, and it felt oddly true: Stefon bare and open, Seth covered up and closed off. If he didn’t focus, if he didn’t make that commitment again and again, it was too easy to fall back into old patterns, old ways of being. And he didn’t want to be that with Stefon.

He unbuttoned his shirt and stripped down to his boxers, if only for the symbolism for himself. Stefon watched him with sleepy interest. For half a second, Seth considered getting into the tub with him and continuing what they’d started downstairs because that would be spontaneous and sexy. Mopping the bathroom floor, however, was less erotic and neither of them would appreciate that later, so instead, he folded a towel for his knees and knelt beside the tub. 

Stefon sat up and Seth soaped up a washcloth to drag in firm, soothing strokes down the skin of his back. Stefon rested his head on his knees and let out a long, dreamy sigh.

“I know you said I wasn’t overreacting, but I could have been more supportive,” he said after a few peaceful minutes. “I’m proud of everything you’re doing, and I know my schedule is more flexible so it only makes sense...”

“Your schedule is more flexible, but that doesn’t mean your goals are less important.” Seth scooped a handful of steaming water to rinse the suds from Stefon’s back. A publisher expected something from their advance, and Stefon’s manuscript—half-memoir, half-guidebook—had been renegotiated twice already, because of Seth. “And my schedule’s only inflexible because we decided it is. There are places I could delegate, or work from home, or even take the kids with me. They’re getting old enough. My work isn’t more important than yours and the kids are a job we need to share.”

The water sloshed gently as Stefon turned to him, looking so young and handsome in the candlelight. He looked a little like Seth had surprised him, even if Seth himself didn’t know why. “Thank you for marrying me,” was all he said.

“Oh, no, thank _you_ ,” Seth said, and Stefon laughed. Still his favorite sound in the world. Well, top three with Sage and Sawyer’s for sure.

With another big yawn, Stefon leaned back in the water again, stretching his arms overhead. He eyed Seth. “I so wish I weren’t too tired to fuck right now.”

Seth barked a laugh, startled. “Oh, believe me, me too.” He craned forward to kiss him, good and filthy and promising. “I love you.”

“You sure?” Stefon asked. “I’m a handful.”

“I like having my hands full of you,” Seth replied. He dipped his palm into the water to stroke against his inner thigh, just dirty enough to make Stefon’s mouth quirk in a smile. Then, he stood, grimacing only a little at his aching knees, and shook out the towel. “Finish your bath. I’m going to go warm this up in the dryer.”

“Oh, a warm towel. Now you’re spoiling me.”

“Damn right.”

Stefon smiled and slipped completely beneath the water with a swirl of bubbles.

Bark Ruffalo and Eartha Kitty curled at the end of their bed, on the respective sides that had been decided via combat when they’d first moved into this house. Seth nudged the cat out of the way with his toes, but she just made a game of it, clawing and biting at the movement. “Oh, before I forget,” he said. “Emily called. She wants to stay with us over her spring break.”

Stefon tossed the decorative pillows to the floor as he climbed under the covers. “Ah. Uncle Chuckie still mad she wants a PhD more than her MRS?” 

“Yeah. But I was thinking...” He slid closer to his husband, a hand around his waist. “When she’s here, maybe we could leave the kids with her for an overnight or two, get a hotel room, maybe one with a bathtub big enough for two…”

“Oo, you have good ideas, Seth Meyers.” He lifted a hand to stroke over the hair that Seth knew was graying at his temples. 

“You’re very inspiring, Stefon Meyers.”

Stefon nestled against his chest, so close that Seth could feel his smile. He reached over to flip off the bedside lamp and noticed anew something that had been there every single day for over seven years. 

In a little gold frame was a card purchased long ago at a CVS. It was dingy and dogeared, a thumbtack hole in one corner. It had spent months on a wall, then even more months in a box as its recipient tried to move on. Now, it lived in a place of prominence and permanence. 

Golden letters spelled out, _“You’re cordially invited…”_

As he switched off the light and closed his arms around Stefon, Seth’s sleepy romantic mind filled in an ending.

_...to live happily ever after._


End file.
